ieMIDDLE 
COURSE 


Mrs.  POULTNEY  BIGELOW 


jf-6 


I 


"  'Have  you  ever  studied  palmistry?'  asked  Althea." 


The 
Middle  Course 


BY 
MRS.  POULTNEY  BIGELOW 

ILLUSTRATED    BY  C.   B.  CURRIER 


19O3 

The  Smart  Set  Publishing  Co. 

NEW  YORK         LONDON 


THE  MIDDLE   COURSE 


CHAPTER  I 

MARITAL   MATTERS 

MANY  dramas,  both  tragedies  and  com- 
edies, begin  at  a  dinner  table,  though  they 
seldom  end  there,  unless  one  of  the  princi- 
pal actors  be  choked  by  a  fish-bone  or  die 
of  a  "  surfeit,"  like  one  of  England's  early 
kings. 

There  was,  however,  no  hint  of  anything 
dramatic  at  the  hospitable  board  of  Mrs. 
Bertram  Vincent  on  a  certain  evening  in 
early  June.  The  light  of  the  candles  fell 
pinkly  on  eight  well-contented,  gently- 


2134275 


The  Middle  Course 

pleased  faces  ;  four  women  and  four  men 
sat  eating  an  exquisite  meal  and  absorbing 
unconsciously  the  beauty  of  the  scarlet  and 
pink  Shirley  poppies,  of  the  convolutions  of 
rosy  silk  and  of  the  unique  pieces  of  silver 
that  enhanced  the  purity  of  their  spotless 
damask  background.  It  was  a  gathering 
very  representative  of  a  certain  section  of 
London  society — a  most  interesting  section, 
some  people  would  say — where  bohemians 
have  retained  certain  gay  and  attractive  qual- 
ities and  have  added  thereto  a  high  degree 
of  moral  rectitude — and  clean  shirts.  There 
were,  besides  the  host  and  hostess,  an  actor 
and  his  wife,  an  American  married  couple 
living  in  London,  a  well-known  sculptor 
and  a  lovely  young  woman  who  was,  for  the 
first  time  since  her  marriage,  dining  out  de- 
prived of  the  protection  of  her  adoring  hus- 
band. The  last,  Mrs.  Mellor,  was  the  living 
incarnation  of  the  smooth,  delicately-tinted 

beauties  of  a  Christmas  supplement,  and  to 

16 


Marital   Matters 

judge  from  her  conversation,  had  as  little 
mental  depth  as  the  supplement  has  material 
thickness. 

She  found  herself  not  only  unprotected 
by  her  Charles,  who  was  out  of  town  for  a 
day  or  two,  but  next  to  an  actor,  and  the 
unusualness  of  the  situation  made  her  heart 
flutter  and  her  color  deepen.  But  the  flutter 
was  that  of  a  mechanical  canary  bird  and 
the  blush  was  produced  by  trepidation,  not 
by  any  pleasurable  emotion. 

The  actor  was  thinking  that  it  was  easier 
to  play  a  double  role  for  a  hundred  consecu- 
tive nights  than  to  strike  a  conversational 
spark  from  this  unpromising  material.  His 
only  recompense  for  the  attempt  was  a 
super-excellent  lobster  cutlet,  which  he 
addressed  with  more  satisfactory  results. 

Mrs.  Oliver  North,  the  American,  sat  be- 
side Clement  Moorlake,  the  sculptor.  This 
was  their  first  meeting,  though  they  had 

many  friends  in  common.     Mrs.  North  had, 
2  17 


The   Middle  Course 

of  course,  heard  of  him  very  often  and  had 
seen  several  of  his  statues.  She  could  not 
help  thinking,  as  she  now  looked  at  him, 
that  he  was  infinitely  more  interesting  than 
any  of  his  creations.  His  was  the  face  of  a 
man  who  has  early  found  that  life,  lived  in 
its  fulness,  means  suffering.  There  was 
nothing,  so  far,  in  his  conversation  or  his 
manner  to  imply  that  he  had  sad  or  secret 
memories,  yet  such  was  the  impression  at 
once  produced  on  the  mind  of  his  new  ac- 
quaintance. There  was  a  certain  quality  in 
his  beauty,  his  manner,  his  general  bearing 
which  can  only  be  described  as  romantic. 
Women  were  often  at  once  touched  by  it, 
and  it  sometimes  led  them  to  expect  devel- 
opments that  would  justify  their  estimate, 
though  these  expectations  were  doomed  to 
remain  unrealized. 

In  thinking  of  persons  who  are  absent  ar  d 
trying  to  recall  their  personality,  we  are  apt 

to  remember  vividly  some  one  salient  fea- 

18 


Marital  Matters 

ture.  In  after  days  Althea,  when  conjuring 
up  Moorlake's  face,  always  saw  his  eyes. 
They  were  very  remarkable — penetrating 
yet  soft,  keen  yet  kindly,  brilliant  yet  tender. 
Their  color  was  a  dark  hazel,  which  in  some 
lights  appeared  brown,  because  of  the  black- 
ness of  the  lashes.  For  the  rest  Althea 
thought  that  had  Romeo  lived  to  conquer 
his  sorrow,  he  might,  at  forty,  have  been 
externally  just  such  a  man  as  Clement  Moor- 
lake. 

Althea  herself  was  barely  thirty.  She 
was  a  woman  who,  after  eight  years  of  mar- 
ried life  that  left  much  of  her  nature  unsat- 
isfied, was  reaching  out  always  for  a  consol- 
ing sympathy,  which  she  seldom  found,  or 
found  only  to  reject,  because  the  coarseness 
of  man's  nature  is  prone  to  misinterpret 
such  spiritual  yearnings.  Such  a  woman  is 
dangerous — often  to  others  and  always  to 
herself. 

Moorlake  already  found  her    charming. 
19 


The  Middle  Course 

He  who  created  only  in  colorless  stone  could 
nevertheless  appreciate  the  tinted  whiteness 
of  arms  and  shoulders  that  he  would  not 
have  disdained  to  model. 

Conversation  just  then  was  of  the  placid 
and  agreeable  kind  that  promotes  digestion. 
No  agitating  party  questions  were  ever  al- 
lowed at  the  Vincent  table.  The  Vincents 
did  not  "  go  in  "  for  politics,  though  they 
had  intimate  friends  on  both  sides.  Vin- 
cent was  a  violent  Radical,  he  always  said, 
yet  no  one  could  associate  this  characteriza- 
tion with  his  benign  expression  and  slow, 
lazy  utterance. 

"  Not  only  are  Vincent's  dinners  irre- 
proachable," a  well-known  diner-out  had 
once  said,  "  but  they  always  agree  with  me, 
because  they  are  accompanied  by  the  sauce 
of  good  humor." 

In  a  pause  of  the  general  conversation  Mrs. 
Vincent's  voice  was  heard. 

"  I  learned   such  a  good  definition  of  * 
20 


Marital   Matters 

wife  the  other  day,"  she  said.  "  Effie  Nixon 
said,  in  her  sharp  way  :  '  I  don't  want  to 
marry  !  What  is  a  wife,  anyway  ?  Only  an 
upper  servant  engaged  by  the  lifetime  with- 
out wages.' ' 

North  laughed  a  little. 

"Are  you  sure,"  said  he,  "that  it  was 
not  my  wife  who  said  that  ?  I  believe  that's 
her  view." 

Moorlake  glanced  at  Althea.  Her  lips 
compressed  slightly. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  said  Banfrey,  the 
actor,  eager  to  divert  the  conversation,  "  a 
pretty  little  American  woman  named  Es- 
cott  ?"  He  addressed  Mrs.  Vincent  more 
particularly. 

"  Yes,"  answered  that  lady.  "  A  gay, 
pleasant  creature.  What  about  her  ? " 

"  Since  she  has  returned  home  her  hus- 
band is  suing  a  man  in  New  York  for  alien- 
ating her  affections.  The  man  has  had  to 

mortgage  his  house  in  order  to  pay." 
21 


The  Middle  Course 

"  What  a  revolting  thing  !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  North,  "  to  put  a  money  value  on  a 
woman's  affections." 

"  Far  better,"  said  North,  sharply,  "  to  put 
a  bullet  into  the  man." 

14  My  dear  Oliver,"  protested  Vincent, 
lazily,  "  how  drastic  !  " 

11  In  my  opinion  that  is  the  only  way  to 
deal  with  such  a  scoundrel,"  answered 
North,  quite  seriously. 

Althea's  cheek  burned.  She  turned  to 
Moorlake.  "  Isn't  that  an  awful  idea,"  she 
said,  "  to  guard  a  woman's  faith  with  a  re- 
volver ? " 

"  Unnecessarily  stern,  perhaps,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "There  are  pleasanter  ways  of 
keeping  a  wife's  love." 

Althea  looked  straight  at  her  husband. 

"  What  if  Mrs.  Escott  wanted  to  have  her 
affections  alienated  ? "  she  demanded,  with 
more  earnestness  than  the  occasion  seemed 

to  warrant. 

22 


Marital   Matters 

"  Then  she  ought  to  be  shot,  too,"  said 
North,  imperturbably. 

Mrs  Mellor  looked  pained. 

"  What  a  horrid  subject  !  "  she  murmured 
to  Banfrey,  without,  however,  expecting  his 
sympathy.  She  had  a  fixed  idea  that  all 
actors  are  immoral. 

The  Vincents  regarded  Mrs.  North  with 
interest. 

"  Let  us  have  your  opinion,  dear  lady," 
said  Bertram.  "  It  is  sure  to  be  worth  hear- 
ing." 

Althea's  cheeks  were  very  red,  and  she 
held  her  head  very  high. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  deliberately,  "  that  the 
only  man  who  is  answerable  for  alienating  a 
married  woman's  affections  is  her  own  hus- 
band." 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  silence. 

"  That  is  a  dark  saying,"  observed  Vincent, 
presently,  "  but  I  suppose  it  means  some- 
thing." 

23 


The  Middle  Course 

"  I  see  !  "  said  Mrs.  Banfrey.  "  It  means 
that  you  can't  pour  water  into  a  full 
jug  !  " 

"  A  full  jug  meaning  a  heart  full  of  love," 
said  Mrs.  Vincent.  "  I  understand.  Wo- 
men can  love  only  one  man  at  a  time,  and 
the  husband  has  only  to  see  that  he  is  that 
man." 

"  You  have  been  happy  in  choosing  your 
women  friends,"  said  Banfrey,  cynically,  "if 
that's  the  only  kind  you  know." 

"  Oh,  actors  see  the  seamy  side,"  said 
Nellie  Vincent,  lightly.  "  No  one  minds 
what  they  say." 

"  I  wish  Charlie  were  here  !  "  murmured 
the  bride  to  herself. 

North  looked  very  angry. 

"  Why  did  you  start  all  this  ?"  he  asked  of 
his  wife,  with  an  absence  of  courtesy  which 
made  Moorlake  indignant. 

"  As  a  warning  to  husbands  !  "  said  Althea, 

with  an  attempt  at  lightness. 

24 


Marital  Matters 

North  turned  to  his  neighbor  with  some 
rather  irrelevant  remark. 

Under  cover  of  the  general  conversation 
that  now  began  Althea  spoke  to  Moorlake. 

' '  You  understand  what  I  mean,  don't  you  ? t; 
she  asked,  almost  appealingly. 

"  I  think  I  do  ;  and  I  quite  agree  with  you," 
he  answered. 

Just  then  Mrs.  Vincent  made  a  sign  to 
Mrs.  Banfrey,  and  the  women  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    PICTURE 

"  COME  upstairs  to  the  studio,"  said  the 
hostess.  "  I  want  you  to  see  Bertie's  pic- 
ture. I  like  it  amazingly,  though  perhaps 
I'm  rather  prejudiced."  She  laughed  light- 
ly as  she  stood  on  the  shallow  step,  waiting 
for  her  friends  to  precede  her. 

"  You  know  I  gave  him  the  subject,"  said 
Mrs.  North. 

"  I  know  you  did  ;  it's  a  good  idea,  and 
one  that  wouldn't  have  occurred  to  Bertie. 
He  isn't  given  to  ghostly  things." 

The  studio  was  a  room  about  thirty  feet 
square,  in  which  Vincent  painted,  composed, 
etched,  sang,  and  did  a  few  other  things. 
He  considered  himself  only  an  amateur  at 

these  various  pursuits,  for  he  asserted  that 

27 


The   Middle  Course 

no  man  can  espouse  any  one  art  if  he  co- 
quette with  all  the  others. 

"  Don't  show  the  picture  till  Mr.  Vincent 
comes  up,"  said  Mrs.  Mellor,  with  timid 
sweetness. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Vincent,  and  as 
she  spoke  she  deftly  wheeled  the  easel  round 
so  that  the  picture  was  hidden. 

"  Now,  my  dear,  come  and  sit  by  me.  I 
haven't  seen  you  for  a  blue  moon,"  and  she 
took  Althea's  hand,  leading  her  to  a  small 
sofa. 

The  other  two  women,  forced  into  friendly 
relations  by  this  manceuver,  sat  down  beside 
a  fire  of  vari-colored  driftwood. 

The  appearance  of  coffee  and  liqueurs 
put  the  finishing  touch  to  the  sense  of  well- 
being  which  should  belong  to  the  after- 
dinner  hour. 

"  Tell  me,  Althea,"  pursued  Nellie  Vincent, 
11  why  so  severe  on  husbands  ?  Has  Oliver 

been  alienating  your  affections  ? " 

28 


The   Picture 

"  He  has  been  ...  as  usual." 

"  No  lucid  intervals  ?  " 

"  Short — very  short.  I  am  desperate  !  If 
it  were  not  for  the  child  I  should  leave  it  all." 

"  Ah,  the  child  !  Children  are  the  rivets 
in  the  matrimonial  chain.  They  hold  the 
wretched  parents  together.  I  thought  you 
very  bitter  at  dinner.  I  saw  the  beloved 
Moorlake  look  at  you  with  interest.  By  the 
way,  did  he  impress  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course.     He  must  impress  everyone." 

"  But  not  always  pleasantly.  Some  people 
hate  him." 

"  No  doubt — vain  women  and  unattractive 
men.  He  would  make  both  feel  uncomfort- 
able." 

"  You  know  that  coarse  creature,  Winter- 
ham  ?  He  calls  Moorlake  all  sorts  of  names. 
He  says  he's  a  prig— looks  like  '  something 
sugar-coated  made  up  by  the  chemist.' " 

"  Tell  him  I  wish  he  would  give  me  the 

address  of  that  chemist  !  " 

29 


The  Middle  Course 

"  Althea,  you  alarm  me  !  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  you  need  not  be  afraid. 
Where  have  you  kept  this  rare  creature  all 
these  years,  that  you  produce  kim  only  now  ? " 

"  He  has  kept  himself  in  Italy." 

"  He  looks  a  little  Italian,  though  not  so 
black  as  some.  I  hate  black  men  !  What 
is  his  history  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  think  he  has  one  ?  " 

"  Because  he's  unmarried.  All  bachelors 
have  a  history." 

"  And  some  married  men  !  Yes,  we  think 
he  has  one,  but  I  won't  tell  you  about  him  ; 
it  will  make  him  too  interesting." 

"  Providence  has  made  him  that  already.' 

At  that  moment  a  lady  entered  the  room, 
the  maid,  a  little  in  advance,  announcing, 
"  Mrs.  Hilyer." 

The  new-comer  was  small  and  slight,  with 
dark,  curly  hair  and  deep  blue  eyes.  She 
wore  over  an  amber  satin  gown  a  long  white 

.cloak  trimmed  withjeathers. 

30 


The   Picture 

"  Fm  aware  that  this  is  without  precedent!  " 
she  exclaimed — if  a  remark  uttered  in  such 
a  low,  sweet  voice  could  be  called  an  excla- 
mation— "  but  I'm  on  my  way  to  a  neighbor 
of  yours,  and  I  wanted  to  remind  you  of  to- 
morrow. Had  you  forgotten  ? " 

She  addressed  Mrs.  Vincent,  and  kissed 
her  on  both  cheeks  as  soon  as  she  had  fin- 
ished speaking. 

"  Bother  my  neighbor  !  "  said  Nellie,  cor- 
dially. "  Take  off  this  delicious,  fluffy  gar- 
ment and  spend  an  hour  with  us.  The  men 
will  be  up  in  a  minute.  Clement  Moorlake 
is  here." 

"  Do  you  think  I  require  that  as  an  induce- 
ment ? "  demanded  Mrs.  Hilyer,  with  soft 
reproachfulness.  "  I  can't  stay.  My  car- 
riage is  here." 

"  Send  it  away,  then.  Bertram  will  take 
you  over  to  the  Bascombes'.  It's  just  across 
the  street." 

"  Very  well.     You  always  seduce  me  from 


The  Middle  Course 

the  path  of  duty—"  allowing  the  maid  to 
divest  her  of  the  cloak.  "  Tell  my  man  to 
come  back — to  the  house  opposite — at  one 
o'clock." 

Then  she  turned  to  Althea.  "  How  rude 
I  have  been!  I  did  not  recognize  you  at 
once.  I'm  rather  blind.  How  are  you  ?  " 

Althea  responded  pleasantly.  She  knew 
Mrs.  Hilyer  very  little,  but  thought  her  in- 
teresting. The  new  arrival  then  found  that 
she  also  knew  both  the  ladies  by  the  fire, 
and  went  over  to  speak  to  them. 

"  What!  a  fire  in  June,  Nellie  ?" 

"  It  looks  pretty,  and  the  evenings  are 
cold,"  said  Mrs.  Banfrey. 

14  Yes,"  hazarded  the  lovely  Mrs.  Mellor ; 
"  there  was  a  slight  frost  last  night." 

These  profound  observations  were  inter- 
rupted by  the  entrance  of  the  men. 

Clement  Moorlake  came  in  first,  with  his 
firm,  elastic  tread,  very  different  from  the 

slouch,  stride  or  waddle  of  the  bulk  of  man- 

32 


The   Picture 

kind.  One  could  not  hear  his  step  without 
divining  how  near  perfection  his  proportions 
must  be.  He  spoke  to  Mrs.  Hilyer  with  his 
usual  calm,  gentle  manner,  but  Althea  fan- 
cied that  the  lady  in  amber  satin  found  his 
greeting  cold.  She  was  certainly  very  pale. 

They  held  a  short  dialogue. 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  these  weeks  ? " 
asked  she. 

"  Working  away  in  the  fog  at  a  statue  that 
wouldn't  come  right,"  said  the  sculptor. 

"  Not  even  for  you  ? "  she  asked,  in  a  low 
voice. 

Moorlake  looked  annoyed.  "  It  was  not  a 
Galatea — something  much  more  obstinate, 
but  not  half  so  dangerous,"  he  said. 

Vincent  interrupted  them  with  a  boisterous 
welcome. 

"  They  all  want  to  see  the  picture,  Bertie," 
said  his  wife.  "  And  then  they  want  a  song, 
that  latest  one,  you  know — and  then " 

"  And  then  they  must  go  down  into  the 
3  33 


The  Middle  Course 

kitchen  and  see  you  make  that  deliriously 
lovely  pudding  you  invented  last  week !  " 
laughed  Bertram. 

"  Ah,"  sighed  Mrs.  Bertram,  "  we're  a 
wonderful  couple." 

As  two  or  three  of  the  company  moved 
toward  the  easel  North  came  and  began 
talking  to  Mrs.  Hilyer.  The  fireside  group, 
finding  the  blaze  more  picturesque  than 
comfortable,  also  drifted  towards  the  pic- 
ture. Moorlake  stood  near  Althea. 

"  I  inspired  this  picture,"  she  confided  to 
him.  "  I  feel  quite  anxious  to  see  my  god- 
child." 

"  I  hope  it  is  worthy  of  such  a  sponsor  !  " 
he  replied,  with  mock  solemnity. 

Vincent  wheeled  the  picture  into  a  good 
position.  "  It  is  called,"  he  said,  "  '  The 
Faithful  Soul.'  " 

"Which  is  the  faithful  one  ?"  asked  Ban- 
frey. 

"  The  poor  ghost,"  returned  Vincent. 
34 


The   Picture 

"  Ah,  it's  easy  for  a  ghost  to  be  faithful," 
said  the  actor. 

Gladys  Mellor  looked  shocked. 

The  picture  was  extremely  well  done.  It 
represented  an  avenue  of  lime  trees  in  which 
stood  a  man  and  a  woman.  It  wras  night, 
but  the  moonlight  fell  through  the  breaks 
between  the  boughs  and  revealed  the  figures. 
The  girl,  a  lovely  creature  dressed  in  a 
short-waisted  white  gown,  was  hanging  on 
the  arm  of  the  man.  Every  curve  of  her 
young  body  told  of  love  and  of  complete 
absorption  in  her  companion.  But  he,  a 
fine,  stalwart  fellow,  was  diverted  from  her 
by  something  that  was  evidently  invisible  to 
her.  His  startled  gaze  was  directed  at  a 
form  white  as  a  moonbeam  and  almost  as 
intangible  ;  the  face  of  the  fair  wraith  was 
more  distinct  and  the  expression  of  mingled 
reproach  and  agony  on  its  features  was 
clearly  discernible. 

"  Bravo,  Bertie  !  "  said  Moorlake,  heartily. 

35 


The   Middle  Course 

"  This  is  good.  You  ought  to  send  it  to  the 
Academy." 

"  Don't  you  think  there  are  enough  ama- 
teurs there  already?"  queried  Vincent,  with 
assumed  indifference.  He  was  really  im- 
mensely pleased  by  Moorlake's  honest  praise. 

"Isn't  it  good,  Mrs.  North? "asked  the 
sculptor. 

"  Alas,  poor  ghost  !  "  she  sighed,  her  eyes 
full  of  tears. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  Banfrey.  "  I  think 
it's  ripping,  old  man.  Where  did  you  get 
the  idea  ?" 

"  From  this  dear  lady,"  said  Vincent,with  a 
look  of  brotherly  regard  at  Althea— "  and 
from  Adelaide  Procter." 

"Ah,  yes," said  Moorlake,  "  I  remember— 

"In  that  one  minute's  anguish 
The  thousand  years  have  passed." 

"  Who  was  the  person  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Hil- 
yer,  who,  accompanied  by  North,  had  come 

to  look  at  the  picture. 

36 


The  Picture 

"  The  faithful  soul  belonged,  of  course,  to 
a  female  ghost,"  said  Nellie  Vincent. 

"  What  nonsense  !  "  said  Vincent.  "  How 
can  a  soul  belong  to  a  ghost  ?  You  do 
muddle  things  so  !  " 

"  It  is  beautiful,  Bertie,  beautiful  !  "  said 
North,  "  but  too  ethereal  for  me.  I  like 
real  things,"  and  he  sauntered  away. 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  no  fidelity  in 
man  ? "  asked  Moorlake  of  Althea,  as  they 
lingered  a  moment  beside  the  picture. 

"  Not  often,"  said  Mrs.  North. 

"  Yet  I  know  a  man,"  he  said,  reflectively, 
"  who  has  loved  one  woman  for  fifteen 
years." 

"  Then  he  is  all  the  nearer  to  a  change," 
she  laughed,  with  assumed  hardness. 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  almost  sadly, 
and  saw  that  she  was  an  unhappy  wo- 
man. 

"  How  bitter  you  are  !  "  he  said.     "  And 

yet  nature  has  done  so  much  for  you.     .     . 

37 


The   Middle  Course 

I  hope  we  may  meet  again  ;  I  must  go  on 
now."  He  shook  hands  with  her  as  he 
spoke. 

"  Come  to  see  me,"  she  said,  with  a 
strange  sense  of  fear  that  she  might  lose 
him  altogether. 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy,"  he  said,  in  a  con- 
ventional tone,  and  went  to  take  leave  of  the 
Vincents. 

"Are  you  going  to  the  Bascombes'  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Hilyer. 

"No;  unfortunately  in  quite  another  di- 
rection," said  Moorlake. 

Mrs.  Banfrey  remarked,  a  few  moments 
later,  as  she  and  Althea  put  on  their  cloaks 
downstairs  : 

"  Nellie  is  easily  deceived.  Mrs.  Hilyer 
knew  that  Moorlake  was  dining  here.  That's 
why  she  came.  She  has  been  in  love  with 
him  for  years  .  .  ." 

In   the    carriage,    as   they   drove    home, 

Oliver  North  said  to  his  wife  :    "  Do  you 

38 


The  Picture 

know  that  you  have  been  exceptionally 
odious  to-night — even  for  you  ? " 

"  You  don't  mind  telling  me  so,"  said 
Althea. 

"  Your  remarks  about  marriage  were 
simply  depraved.  I  wonder  a  decent  woman 
could  make  them.  They  make  me  wonder 
if  you  are  decent.  You  grow  more  reckless 
every  day,  and  let  me  tell  you  that  your  vul- 
gar habit  of  making  eyes  at  good-looking 
men  is  growing  on  you.  You  flirted  out- 
rageously with  that  sculptor  fellow." 

"  No  one  could  flirt  with  Mr.  Moorlake," 
said  Althea,  indignantly.  "  You  are  too 
vulgar  !  " 

"  Not  so  vulgar  as  the  actions  I  refer  to. 
No  one  has  the  courage  to  tell  you  your 
faults  but  me." 

"  You  have  plenty  of  courage  ! "  she  said, 
sharply.  Then  silence  fell  between  them. 
When  they  reached  home  North  put  the  key 

in  the  door  without  a  word  and  allowed  his 

39 


The  Middle  Course 

wife  to  pass  in.  She  went  directly  upstairs, 
and  without  removing  her  cloak  entered  the 
nursery,  where  her  child  lay  asleep.  The 
nurse  was  in  a  bed  beside  the  crib,  and 
slumbered  too  deeply  to  be  aware  of  her 
mistress's  presence.  Althea  bent  over  the 
little  girl. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  you  !  "  she  murmured  ; 
"  oh,  baby,  if  it  were  not  for  you  !  " 

Then  she  went  away  noiselessly  to  her 
own  room. 


40 


CHAPTER  III 

HUSBAND    AND    WIFE 

ALTHEA  had  been  one  of  those  unlucky 
girls  who  are  born  for  love  and  for  nothing 
else.  Her  youth  was  taken  up  by  poetry 
and  dreams.  An  orphan  of  small  means, 
she  was  brought  up  by  an  old-fashioned  aunt, 
who  did  not  take  much  pains  with  her  edu- 
cation. She  had  fed  her  mind  on  visions  of 
love— innocent  enough,  but  enervating  and 
dangerous,  because  she  made  the  mistake  of 
supposing  that  love  is  the  whole  of  life. 
Instead  of  filling  her  days  with  interesting 
pursuits,  she  waited,  wondering  when  the 
king  would  come.  She  tried  to  fit  her  ideal 
to  every  man  she  met,  and  when  Oliver 
North  asked  her  to  marry  him,  he  seemed 


The   Middle  Course 

nearer  her  romantic  standard  than  the  others. 
She  required  to  be  loved.  Her  existence 
was  incomplete  without  someone  on  whom 
to  lavish  the  great  devotion  of  which  she  was 
capable.  But  she  made,  in  the  first  flush  of 
her  hopefulness  and  enthusiasm,  the  mistake 
of  marrying  a  man  who  began  by  being 
somewhat  cold  and  who  ended,  as  we  have 
seen,  by  becoming  something  less  than  civil. 
North  was  a  person  in  whose  life  women 
were  a  mere  episode,  and  not  a  very  interest- 
ing one.  He  had,  more  than  most  men,  a 
talent  for  fidelity,  physical  and  mental.  The 
idea  of  loving  anyone  but  his  lawful  wife 
would  have  been  to  him  terrible.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  he  ever  entertained  it. 
But  no  feminine  creature  could  play  a  large 
role  in  his  existence.  The  charms  of  moun- 
tain-climbing, yachting  or  exploring  strange 
countries  appealed  to  him  irresistibly. 
When  he  tired  for  a  time  of  these  pursuits 

he  would  return  home,   expecting  to  find 

42 


Husband  and  Wife 

that  his  wife  had  been  quietly  fulfilling  her 
domestic  duties  with  discretion  and  was 
ready  to  receive  him  with  an  ardor  devoid 
of  reproaches  for  his  long  absence.  And 
that  is  what  he  did  find.  For  years  Althea 
accepted  this  lot  as  the  usual  portion  of 
wives,  hung  on  Oliver's  words  as  those  of  an 
oracle,  punctually  discharged  her  duties,  and 
solaced  herself  with  her  child  and  the  com- 
panionship of  a  few  women  friends.  Men 
she  liked  individually  rather  than  collec- 
tively, but  she  never  had  a  shadow  of  a 
flirtation  during  all  those*xlevoted  years. 

North  combined  the  passions  of  an  ex- 
plorer with  the  didactic  talent  of  a  school- 
master. He  thought  he  knew  exactly  how 
everyone  should  think,  feel  and  act,  and  in 
his  domestic  intervals  he  occupied  himself 
with  forming  his  wife's  character.  Pretty 
young  women  who  find  that  they  have 
power  to  charm  even  in  their  crude  state 

usually  resent  being  formed,  but  for  years 
43 


The   Middle  Course 

Althea  submitted  to  this  process  with  com- 
parative equanimity. 

One  day  there  came  a  change.  During 
one  of  Oliver's  more  than  ordinary  protracted 
yachting  cruises,  which  a  constitutional 
aversion  to  the  sea  prevented  her  sharing, 
it  dawned  on  her  that  she  did  very  well 
without  Oliver.  The  novel  discovery  gave 
her  a  shock.  On  considering  it  she  realized 
that  without  him  the  house  was  quieter, 
everything  ran  more  smoothly,  and  her 
nerves  were  certainly  under  better  control. 
In  short,  she  became  once  more  an  individual, 
not  a  faint  reflection  ;  became  herself,  not  a 
poor  attempt  at  a  copy  of  someone  whom  she 
could  never  really  resemble. 

When  a  woman  once  finds  the  wings  of 
her  soul  she  is  forever  out  of  reach  of  the 
man  who  has  sought  to  cage  her.  Hence- 
forth Althea  belonged,  in  a  sense,  to  herself, 
though  she  had  not  the  courage  openly  to 

oppose  the  hundred   small  tyrannies  with 
44 


Husband  and  Wife 

which  North  oppressed  her.  He  had,  with- 
out deliberate  intention,  thrown  away  a  heart 
rich  with  unquestioning  love.  Friends  who 
had  anxiously  watched  the  slow  process  of 
which  he  was  unconscious,  pitied  while  they 
blamed  him,  and  feared  for  the  future.  Yet 
he  thought  he  loved  her,  and  it  is  certain 
that  he  loved  no  one  else.  Indeed,  as  she 
cooled,  and  failed  to  cower  and  weep  under 
his  frequent  disapproval,  he  grew  warmer  and 
less  willing  to  leave  her  than  of  old.  What 
she  had  once  resented  she  would  now  have 
prized — freedom  and  solitude,  leave  to  live 
her  own  life,  which,  if  not  heroic,  was  at 
least  innocent.  "1 

North  had  one  fault  that  no  woman  ever 
forgives :  he  was  stingy.  Though  in  pos- 
session of  an  income  of  about  ^"4,000  a  year, 
he  disputed  every  item  of  the  household  ac- 
counts. Once  a  month,  at  least,  when  the 
hateful  tradesmen's  books  came  in,  there  was 

an  unpleasant  scene  between  the  pair,  which 

45 


The   Middle  Course 

usually  ended  for  Althea  in  a  nervous  attack. 
Oliver  liked  keeping  open  house,  but  did 
not  enjoy  paying  for  the  pleasure.  He  was 
also  under  the  impression  that  women  in 
society  require  next  to  no  pin  money.  Al- 
thea's  financial  position  was  a  painful  one, 
because  she  had  only  £50  a  year  of  her  own, 
and  she  could  not  possibly  dress  on  such  a 
small  sum.  She  had  to  plead  abjectly  with 
her  master  when  she  wanted  a  new  gown. 

On  the  morning  after  the  Vincents'  din- 
ner party  she  entered  the  library  knowing 
that  a  disagreeable  encounter  lay  before  her. 
North  was  reading  the  paper.  On  his  desk 
lay  a  note,  stamped  and  addressed.  It  con- 
tained an  order  for  extensive  improvements 
to  his  yacht,  which  was  being  put  in  com- 
mission. 

He  looked  up  at  Althea. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you?"  he  asked,  with 
a  sort  of  sarcastic  playfulness.  "  You  never 

come  here  unless  you  want  something." 

46 


Husband  and  Wife 

Althea  repressed  the  ready  repartee  on 
her  lips  and  said,  quietly  : 

"  I  do  want  something.  I  have  been 
overhauling  my  wardrobe  with  Barnes,  and 
she  and  I  both  think  I  can't  get  through  the 
season  without  some  new  clothes." 

"  Why  must  you  quote  Barnes  ?  The 
season  is  nearly  over,"  said  North,  with  a 
vexed  expression  on  his  face. 

"  The  Summer  is  here,  and  I  can't  possibly 
make  those  country  visits  with  the  things  I 
have." 

"  Where  are  your  last  year's  clothes  ? 
Given  away,  I  suppose." 

"Worn  out,  most  of  them." 

"  Can't  you  buy  more,  if  it's  absolutely 
necessary  ? " 

"  Certainly,  if  I  have  the  money." 

"You  have  £100  a  year.  Most  women 
can  make  themselves  look  well  on  that." 

"  Fifty  of  that  is  my  own.     If  you  allowed 

me  a  hundred  I  might  manage." 
47 


The   Middle  Course 

She  began  to  be  exasperated,  and  made 
a  struggle  to  remain  calm.  There  was  a 
painful  tension  in  her  face  which  would 
have  told  her  husband  what  she  suffered,  but 
he  did  not  look  at  her. 

11  What  does  it  matter  what  you  wear  ? " 
he  asked.  "  Women  spend  far  too  much  on 
their  clothes." 

"It  matters  this  much:  I  go  now  to  a 
second-rate  dressmaker,  and  I  can't  afford 
to  do  even  that.  If  you  refuse  to  give  me  a 
decent  allowance  I  must  refuse  to  go  into 
the  world  any  more." 

"  What  a  stagey  expression  !  '  Into  the 
world  !'  It  sounds  like  a  woman  in  a  cheap 
novel." 

She  still  controlled  herself. 

"  Oliver,"  she  said,  in  a  hard,  low  voice, 
"  why  do  you  grudge  me  everything  I  need  ? 
I  am  not  indifferent  to  your  comfort.  If  our 
positions  were  reversed,  and  I  had  your  in- 
come, you  would  not  have  to  come  to  me  to 
48 


Husband  and  \Vife 

beg  when  you  needed  things.  I  shouldn't 
wait  for  that.  I  should  give  you  what  you 
wanted." 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  deprive  you  of  what 
you  need.  Need  and  want  are  two  very  dif- 
ferent things.  You  have  a  charming  house, 
a  very  good  turnout  and " 

"  A  generous  husband  !  "  she  interrupted, 
her  scorn  breaking  all  bounds.  "  I  have  my 
answer.  You  refuse  me — refuse  me — you, 
\vith  your  thousands  a  year — a  few  pounds 
for  the  necessaries  of  life  !  Oliver,  has  it 
ever  occurred  to  you  that  I  hate  my  life  ? 
that  I  long  to  be  free  ? " 

She  flushed  all  over  as  she  spoke,  alarmed 
at  her  own  bluntness. 

Her  husband  looked  at  her. 

"  You  hate  your  life  because  you  do 
nothing  with  it.  You  starve  your  brain. 
You  should  have  pursuits  and  interests  as  I 
have.  And  as  to  freedom,  what  woman  has 

more  ?     I  leave  you  alone  for  six  months  out 

*  49 


The   Middle  Course 

of  the  twelve.  Not  many  men  have  so  much 
confidence  in  their  wives." 

"  You  are  a  strange  mixture  !  "  she  re- 
torted, "with  your  'absolute  confidence' 
when  you  are  away,  and  your  constant  sus- 
picion when  you  are  at  home  !  But  there 
is  no  use  in  talking  to  you  about  all  this. 
Do  you  refuse  me  the  money  ? " 

"  I  can't  very  well  let  you  have  any  now," 
he  answered.  "  The  Jessamine  needs  a  lot 
done  to  her " 

"  Ah,  my  rival !  "  cried  Althea,  with  a 
short  laugh.  "  I  might  have  known  you 
would  deny  me  everything  sooner  than 
grudge  her  a  coat  of  paint." 

"  Many  wives  would  be  happy  to  have 
only  an  inanimate  rival  ! "  said  he.  "I  am 
going  away  soon,  and  you'll  be  rather  quiet, 
I  suppose,  and  won't  want  many  clothes." 

Without  another  word  Althea  left  the 
room.  Interviews  of  this  sort  always  left 

her  with  a  half-stunned  feeling.     She  could 

50 


Husband  and  Wife 

not  understand  why  her  life  must  be  bound 
up  with  this  man's — why  her  youth  and  her 
prettiness  must  be  wasted  in  such  uncon- 
genial companionship.  As  she  sat  brooding 
in  her  morning-room,  her  unpaid  bills 
spread  out  before  her,  suddenly  an  image 
rose  before  her  mind.  The  eyes  of  Clement 
Moorlake  seemed  to  look  down  on  her 
troubled  soul — to  penetrate  into  her  weary 
heart — and  their  phantasmal  glance  brought 
quiet  to  her  being.  "  There  are  kind  and 
gentle  men  in  the  world,  after  all  !  "  she 
thought.  "  Thank  God  for  them  !  " 


CHAPTER  IV 

A    TETE-A-TETE 

SHE  felt  the  imperative  need  of  getting 
away  to  some  place  where  she  could  breathe 
fresh  air  and  see  grass  and  flowers.  Still  in 
a  sort  of  blind  rage,  she  went  to  the  nearest 
underground  railway  station  and  took  a 
ticket  for  Kew.  How  often  she  had  sat  in 
cab,  train,  carriage  or  omnibus,  with  her 
heart  full  of  bitterness,  her  soul  in  revolt  ! 
She  wearied  herself  with  thought  ;  her  lips 
framed,  without  uttering,  long  colloquies 
between  her  husband  and  herself — imagi- 
nary scenes  in  which  at  last  she  triumphed 
and  convinced  him  of  his  meanness.  The 
unhappy  woman  had  been  born  with  a  strong 

sense  of  the  dramatic— a  gift  that  adds  an- 

53 


The   Middle  Course 

other  pang  to  an  unhappy  lot.  All  her  life 
appeared  to  her  in  scenes,  acts,  situations ; 
and  of  each  she  felt  the  force  and  poign- 
ancy, knowing  meanwhile  that  she  lacked 
the  self-control  necessary  to  enact  a  consist- 
ent role.  She  lacked  the  balance  to  adhere 
to  a  certain  line  of  conduct,  or  she  might 
have  mastered  her  tyrant.  She  \vas  canine 
— not  feline,  and  there  lay  her  failure.  The 
dog  watches  his  master  with  fear  or  affec- 
tion, or  both,  written  in  his  eyes  ;  the  cat 
pursues  her  sinuous  way  with  complete  indif- 
ference. The  dog  looks  at  you  with  his  eyes 
— the  consciousness  of  the  cat  sits  behind 
hers,  and  peeps  through  them,  so  that  none 
can  divine  her  meaning.  When  she  confers 
a  favor  she  makes  the  recipient  feel  proud. 
As  for  the  dog,  one  knows  he  will  be  pleased 
if  thrown  a  kind  word,  and  there  is  rather  a 
contempt  for  his  ready  demonstration  of 
affection. 

The  woman  who  lays  bare  her  soul  to  a 
54 


A  Tete-a-tete 

man  has  lost  her  hold  on  him.  Her  very 
honesty  is  her  ruin. 

Through  the  purgatory  of  the  underground 
railway  Althea  reached  the  paradise  of  Kew 
Gardens.  They  were  in  full  beauty  with 
their  masses  of  gorgeous  rhododendron,  the 
daisied  turf,  like  green  embroidered  velvet, 
and  the  birds  trilling,  warbling,  whistling 
and  chirping  in  the  heavenly  blue  air  of 
June. 

The  human  race  began  in  a  garden — would 
that  it  had  stayed  there  ! 

The  turmoil  in  the  soul  of  the  woman 
abated  in  the  calm  of  the  place. 

For  hours  Althea  sat  under  the  great  trees 
or  slowly  paced  the  fragrant  ways.  The  one 
great  safeguard  of  ardent,  headlong  natures 
is  a  latent  power  to  right  themselves.  The 
pendulum  swings  lightly  back  again.  By 
three  o'clock  Mrs.  North  began  to  realize 
that  life  was  not  quite  without  charm,  and 

that   she  was  prosaically   hungry.     Almost 

55 


The   Middle  Course 

laughing  at  this  assertion  of  her  physical 
being,  she  made  her  way  toward  the  tea- 
house. And  as  she  turned  a  leafy  corner, 
she  came  full  on  Clement  Moorlake.  Life 
is  sadly  unlike  the  drama  in  that  the  time, 
the  place  and  the  man  are  generally  wide 
apart.  To-day,  of  all  the  persons  on  earth 
whom  she  might  have  met,  Althea  wished 
most  to  see  the  sculptor.  Yet  for  a  moment 
she  shrank  from  the  encounter.  Only  for  a 
moment ;  Moorlake  looked  like  the  high 
priest  of  conventionality.  Althea's  exuber- 
ant fancy  quailed  before  his  calm  greeting. 

"  Is  this  one  of  your  favorite  haunts,  Mrs. 
North?"  he  asked.  "  I  come  here  often 
when  London  seems  to  press  too  heavily." 

"  I  love  it,"  said  Althea.  "  I  break  away 
sometimes  and  sit  for  an  hour  under  the 
trees.  Why  is  it  that  life  under  the  trees  is 
so  easy  ? " 

In    her   words  there  was  an  underlying 

pathos,  an  unconscious  claim  for  sympathy, 

56 


A  Tete-a-tete 

that  did  not  escape  Moorlake's  keen  percep- 
tions. 

"  Because,"  he  said,  looking  down  at  her 
with  a  kindly  light  in  his  eyes,  "  we  have 
nothing  to  do  but  rest  and  gather  strength 
there.  But  you  would  not  like  life  always 
to  be  made  up  of  'sheltering  boughs  and 
soft  turf,  would  you  ?  You  are  too  active, 
too  intelligent,  to  like  inglorious  ease." 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  she  asked.  "  You 
have  seen  me  only  once." 

"  That  is  enough  to  enable  me  to  at  least 
guess  at  your  character,  isn't  it  ?  A  sculptor 
becomes  a  bit  of  a  physiognomist — but  how 
personal  I  am  getting  !  "  he  went  on.  "  For- 
give me  !  " 

"  I  think  nothing  is  interesting  unless  it  is 
personal,"  admitted  Althea,  more  gayly. 
Her  color  had  come  back  and  her  tread  was 
once  more  elastic. 

"  Interesting — yes,"  said  her  companion, 

reflectively.     "  But   I    have  rather  a  horror 

57 


The   Middle  Course 

of  personalities.  One's  own  sorrows  are 
enough,  without  knowing  the  griefs  of 
others." 

"  What  a  selfish  sentiment !  Do  you 
build  a  high  wall  about  yourself  ?" 

"With  a  door  in  it  !  "  he  said,  smiling  ; 
"  and  I  have  been  weak  enough  sometimes 
to  lend  the  key." 

As  he  looked  at  her  his  somewhat  sad, 
stern  face  relaxed,  and  again  she  saw  the 
warm,  friendly  light  in  the  eyes  which  belied 
the  coldness  of  his  usual  manner. 

"  Are  there  many  keys  ? "  she  asked,  play- 
fully. 

"  Not  out  of  my  keeping,"  he  answered. 
"  I  have  learned  to  neither  borrow  nor  lend 
— now." 

"  I  know  those  resolutions  !  One  says, 
'  This  is  the  last  time/  and  one  says  it  every 
time." 

"  But  some  time  must  really  be  the  last  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  but    the    charm    is,    one    never 
58 


A  Tete-a-tete 

knows  that  that  particular  time  is  the  last ! 
...  I  wish  I  could  build  a  wall  !  I  have 
only  a  hedge  full  of  gaps — not  even  a  thorn 
or  two  ! " 

"  Only  flowers  on  the  top  ?  " 

Both  laughed,  and  then  were  silent, 
wondering  whether  they  had  known  each 
other  ten  minutes  or  half  a  lifetime. 

"  I  once  read  in  a  theosophical  book,"  re- 
sumed Althea, "that  one  must  imagine  one's 
self  enclosed  in  a  sort  of  shell,  like  a  horse 
chestnut,  and  then  the  sorrows  of  the  world 
will  glide  off,  not  stay  to  harass  and  torment. 
Isn't  it  a  funny  idea  ? " 

"Not  a  pleasant  one,  certainly.  Here  we 
are  at  the  tea  place.  Are  you  hungry?" 
inquired  Moorlake,  abruptly. 

"  Well— yes— I  am,"  admitted  Althea. 
"  It  seems  too  gross  a  confession  to  make  in 
such  a  place,  on  such  a  day,  but  I've  had  no 
luncheon." 

"  My  dear  lady,  what  a  tragedy  !    Instead 
59 


The   Middle  Course 

of  metaphysics  we  should  be  having  tea — or 
shall   it  be  '  cold  luncheon,  two   to   six?'' 
asked   Moorlake,    glancing  at   the    placard 
above  them. 

"  Oh,  tea,  by  all  means — buns,  cresses, 
jam — all  sorts  of  lovely  things  !  "  cried  Althea, 
softly,  with  a  child's  pleasure. 

The  place  was  deserted,  the  lunchers 
having  departed  and  the  tea  drinkers  not 
having  yet  arrived.  They  chose  a  table  out- 
side the  building  and  ordered  tea. 

Althea's  day  of  misery  had  suddenly 
turned  into  an  exquisitely  interesting  occa- 
sion, and  fate  having  contrived  a  tete-a-tete 
with  the  most  interesting  man  of  her  ac- 
quaintance, she  submitted  without  a  mur- 
mur. 

"  I  was  most  interested  last  night,"  said 
Moorlake,  as  they  settled  themselves  com- 
fortably opposite  each  other  at  the  little 
table,  "  in  the  conversation  about  con- 
stancy." 

60 


A  Tete-a-tete 

"  Mrs.  Mellor  was  shocked,  I  think,"  said 
Althea.  "  Isn't  she  lovely  ?" 

"  As  lovely  as  waxwork — and  as  attrac- 
tive." 

11 1  thought  beauty  was  always  attractive." 

"  Yes,  for  a  moment — but  think  of  a  life 
spent  with  such  a  woman  !  " 

"  I  have  always  supposed  that  men  do 
not  require  brains  in  the  women  they  love." 

"  Some  men  may  not,  and  if  they  don't 
they  don't  deserve  them.  But  you  can't 
seriously  think  that  pink-and- white  inanity 
could  satisfy  a  man  with  any  mind  ?  Charm 
is  the  enduring  quality.  I  know  women  of 
fifty  who  will  never  be  old,  because  they 
have  charm.  That  nameless  something 
holds  a  man's  interest  longer  than  anything 
else." 

His  remarkable  eyes  were  fixed  dreamily 
on  the  gray-green  distance.  Althea  looked 
at  him  and  wondered  more  than  ever  what 

the  story  of  his  life  was.     His  face  had  noth- 
61 


The   Middle  Course 

ing  middle-aged  in  its  lines,  though  the 
thick,  waving  hair  above  it  was  shot  with 
a  few  gray  threads. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Althea,  averting  her  gaze 
as  his  eyes  traveled  back  to  her,  "  I  wish  I 
could  for  one  hour  be  a  man,  in  order  to  dis- 
cover your  standpoint.  We  women  are  so 
helpless— so  in  the  dark  !  We  have  no  free- 
dom in  which  to  gain  experience.  We  never 
learn  to  know  you  well.  There  seems  to  be 
no  friendship  possible  between  us.  It  is  all 
passionate  love — or  utter  indifference.  I 
wish  I  could  know  just  once  what  you  really 
are  ;  what  standards  you  have — what  beliefs 
— what  convictions." 

"  There  are  as  many  standards  as  there 
are  men,"  said  Moorlake. 

"  But  there  are  hard-and-fast  rules  for  you 
as  for  us.  You  must  not  cheat  at  cards,  for 
instance.  You  must  not 'kiss  and  tell.'  I 
always  think  life  must  be  easy  to  men,  be- 
cause the  world  expects  so  little  from  them." 

62 


A  Tete-a-tete 

"  Most  decent  men  have  a  few  virtues  be- 
sides the  negative  one  of  not  being  black- 
guards," laughed  Moorlake.  "  Don't  you 
think  we  have  our  struggles  ?— that  we  mark 
out  a  line  of  conduct  for  ourselves,  and  try 
with  tears  and  prayers,  perhaps,  to  keep  to 
it  ?  I  think  men  and  women  are  wonder- 
fully alike,  only  you  are  more  complex." 

"  Have  you  ever  studied  palmistry  ? " 
asked  Althea.  "  Do  you  notice  how  com- 
plicated a  woman's  hand  is,  compared  with 
a  man's  ?  Our  hands  are  full  of  little,  ner- 
vous, niggling,  criss-cross  lines,  and  yours 
have  plain,  deep-cut  marks,  either  good  or 
bad." 

"Those  little  marks  mean  flirtation,"  said 
Moorlake,  laughing.  "  Let  me  see  yours." 

"  I  have  a  chain  of  them — but  they  aren't 
true,"  said  Althea,  coloring  like  a  girl  and 
hiding  her  hand  under  the  table. 

"  Even  a  woman's  hands  can  lie,  then," 

said  Moorlake,  still  regarding  her  with  an 

63 


The  Middle  Course 

amused  smile.  "  Her  lips  are  not  false 
enough!  What  little  hands  you  American 
women  have  ! " 

"  All  wrong  from  a  sculptor's  point  of  view, 
of  course.  I  feel  that  I  must  admit— no — do 
I  dare?" 

She  paused  and  looked  at  him  sidelong, 
with  a  sort  of  childlike  glance  that  charmed 
him. 

"  Confess  ?  "  said  he  ;  "  certainly.  I  can 
endure  a  great  deal." 

11  Well — I  don't  like  statues,"  she  admitted 
and  colored  brightly. 

"  I'm  very  glad ! "  said  he,  placidly. 
"  That  saves  a  lot  of  trouble.  You  can't  think 
how  tiresome  people  are  who  think  they  care, 
and  in  point  of  fact  know  nothing  whatever 
about  art.  They  torment  me  with  ignorant 
criticisms  until  my  politeness  gives  way." 

11  That  I  can't  imagine,"  said  Althea. 
11  You  are  fearfully  polite." 

Moorlake  laughed. 

64 


A  Tete-a-tete 

11  Do  you  find  that  fault  with  the  men  of 
this  generation  ?  When  I  was  young  one 
didn't  dare  to  be  rude." 

"  That,  I  suppose,  was  a  long  time  ago." 

"  So  long  that  you  seem  to  me  a  mere 
child." 

Althea  shook  her  head,  and  said,  half-sad- 
ly,  "  I  shall  never  be  grown  up — and  eternal 
youth  of  the  soul  doesn't  save  one's  poor 
face  from  wrinkles.  It  is  terrible  to  be  a 
middle-aged  baby  !  " 

There  was  now  no  further  pretext  for  re- 
maining at  the  table,  so  the  waiter  was  paid, 
and  they  rose  to  go  away. 

The  day  was  growing  more  enchanting  as 
it  declined.  The  level  beams  of  light 
played  a  thousand  lovely  tricks  with  flowers 
and  sward.  The  birds'  hearts  gushed  out  in 
melody.  London  and  its  smoke  seemed  far 
away.  Sordid  care  and  bitter  disappoint- 
ment have  no  place  in  Kew  Gardens. 

A  calm  settled  on  Althea's  heart — a  calm 
5  65 


The   Middle  Course 

with  a  strange,  pleasant  fluttering  under- 
neath. She  seemed  to  see  how  happy  life 
might  have  been. 

She  and  Moorlake  went  back  to  town  by 
underground  railway  ;  and  for  once  the  sul- 
phurous air  seemed  sweet  and  bracing.  She 
reached  home  in  a  mood  of  quiet  happiness, 
which  not  even  North's  continued  captious- 
ness  could  mar. 

But  there  is  one  drawback  to  spending  an 
hour  or  two  with  a  very  sympathetic  and  de- 
lightful person— one  wants  immediately  to 
spend  many  more ! 

And  the  opportunity  for  this  did  not  at 
once  recur. 


66 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    MIDDLE    COURSE 

CONCEIVE  a  young  and  pretty  woman  al- 
ternately bullied  and  neglected,  and  you 
will  understand  that  she  may  some  day 
begin  to  cry  for  the  moon.  It  is  generally 
that  moon  which  is  so  brilliant  and  attractive 
and  far  away,  called  Love. 

We  call  to  it  to  come  down,  and  it  stays 
above  ;  we  rake  for  it  in  the  stagnant  water 
of  a  pond,  as  did  the  "  Three  Sillies  "  in  the 
fairy  tale,  and  we  succeed  only  in  stirring  up 
the  mud.  Love,  that  protean  phantasm,  is 
no  doubt  a  useful  thing  to  the  poet  and  the 
writer  of  songs  ;  but  the  search  after  it  is  a 
sad  and  unremunerative  occupation.  Althea 
had  not  yet  begun  it ;  but  she  was  frequent- 
ly troubled  by  a  strong  desire  to  see  Clem- 
ent Moorlake  again. 

67 


The   Middle  Course 

Rigid  moralists  always  say,  in  speaking  of  a 
poor,  disappointed,  mismated  woman  and 
the  needs  of  her  heart :  "  Are  not  her  children 
enough  for  her  ?  "  As  well  direct  a  man  to 
the  town  pump  to  allay  a  craving  for  cham- 
pagne. What  woman  of  heart  and  imagina- 
tion does  not  crave  the  thousand  touches  of 
cherishing  tenderness  which  a  man  who 
loves  her  bestows  on  her  life  ?  Can  she  dis- 
cuss the  problem  of  her  soul  with  her  baby  ? 
Can  she  spend  all  her  evenings  in  hearing 
her  children's  artless  prayers  ?  Can  even 
the  education  of  her  family  become  so  in- 
tensely enthralling  that  she  has  neither  time 
nor  inclination  to  listen  to  Love's  voice  ? 
A  human  woman  must  and  will  love  some- 
body. When  it  isn't  the  right  man— which 
it  seldom  is — it  will  be  the  wrong  one  ;  and 
she  always  thinks  that  the  wrong  one  is  the 
right  one,  or  would  have  been  if  she  had 
had  half  a  chance. 

Oliver  North  departed,  as  usual,  at  a  few 
68 


The   Middle  Course 

hours'  notice,  on  a  perfectly  rational  and 
respectable  yachting  cruise,  in  company 
with  several  estimable  male  friends.  The 
law  could  pick  no  flaw  in  his  behavior  ; 
the  divorce  court  could  not  pronounce  on  it. 
Meanwhile  his  bored  and  starved  wife  was 
left  at  home  on  short  commons,  both  tempo- 
ral and  spiritual. 

"  You  are  a  wonderfully  good  woman," 
said  Nellie  Vincent  one  day  when  she  and 
Althea  \vere  driving  together.  "  I  wonder 
why  you've  kept  straight  so  long." 

Althea  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Why,  how  could  I  be  anything  else  ?  I've 
never  been  tempted,"  she  said. 

"  Then,"  said  Nellie,  "  the  men  are  better 
than  I  thought." 

"  No  one  would  dare  to  make  love  to  me," 
added  Althea,  as  an  afterthought.  "  Besides, 
women  don't  want  to  be  wicked.  They  only 
want  to  be  loved." 

"  Ah,  yes,  that's  so  simple,  isn't  it  ?  "  said 
69 


The   Middle  Course 

Nellie,  with  a  sort  of  grim  gayety.  "  What  a 
pity  the  men  won't  understand!"  Then, 
after  a  pause,  "  Moorlake  is  going  to  call  on 
you." 

"Really?  How  nice!"  said  Althea.  I 
think  he  is  most  interesting." 

"  A  good  many  have  thought  so.  Don't, 
my  dear,  don't  love  him.  It  won't  repay 
you." 

"I, can't  imagine  having  the  impertinence 
to  love  him.  I  should  revere  him." 

It  was  about  a  week  after  this  that  the 
sculptor  appeared  in  Pont  street.  Althea 
had  thought,  after  their  semi-intimate  tea  at 
Kew,  that  she  should  certainly  see  him  very 
soon.  But  she  didn't  know  Moorlake.  He 
was  vagueness  itself  when  it  came  to  making 
calls  or  performing  any  other  social  duties. 
Even  his  friendships  had  vast  lapses,  dur- 
ing which  he  was  seen  by  no  one  but  his 
old  mother,  with  whom  he  lived. 

When  he  entered  the  drawing-room  Al- 
70 


The  Middle  Course 

thea  was  listlessly  reading  a  small  volume  of 
verses  which  had  lately  appeared.  It  was  a 
fine  afternoon,  but  she  had  not  felt  like 
rousing  herself  to  go  out.  She  was  in  the 
mood  that  comes  to  some  women  during  the 
London  season  when  every  hour  is  not  filled 
with  pleasant  engagements.  They  feel  that 
they  ought  to  be  doing  something  brilliant 
and  fascinating  every  day,  and  when  they 
are  not  they  lose  interest  in  life. 

Moorlake's  entrance  was  a  welcome  inter- 
ruption. It  seemed  all  at  once  that  she  had 
a  hundred  things  to  say  to  him  ;  and  yet 
when  they  were  seated  near  each  other,  with 
at  least  half  an  hour  before  them,  she  began 
to  experience  a  sense  of  vacancy. 

He  began  with  the  usual  conventionalities 
— the  weather,  inquiries  after  Oliver  North, 
and  uninteresting  remarks  on  the  subjects 
of  the  day.  It  did  not  escape  him  that 
there  was  a  certain  dryness  in  her  replies 
when  he  mentioned  her  husband,  and  he  at 


The  Middle  Course 

once  let  the  subject  drop.  She  who  was  so 
fluent  with  other  men  was  perturbed  and 
unnatural  in  his  presence.  She  wanted  to 
appear  well — to  win  his  regard,  and  she 
found  herself  dull  and  almost  speechless. 
His  very  look  to-day  was  irritatingly  imper- 
sonal. Only  life  in  the  abstract  seemed 
capable  of  touching  him.  The  longer  they 
sat  thus  the  tenser  became  the  strain.  The 
appearance  of  tea  made  a  happy  diversion. 

Presently  Moorlake  said  :  "  What  were 
you  reading  when  I  came  in  ?  Something 
new  ?" 

"  A  curious  little  booklet  called  '  Poems 
of  a  Pessimist.'  There  appears  to  be  much 
pessimism  in  it  and  little  poetry,"  said  Al- 
thea. 

"  Won't  you  read  a  little  ?  I  fancy  that 
you  must  read  well,"  he  observed. 

"  Here  is  a  bit — very  pathetic,  though  not 
inspired  at  all,"  said  she,  turning  over  the 

leaves.    "  It  is  called  'Woman's  Lot.'    That 

72 


The   Middle  Course 

is  generally  the  preface  to  a  moan,  isn't  it  ? 
It  says  : 

"  For  what  are  women  made  ? 
To  sit  and  wait — and  wait — and  try  to  hope  ; 
To  take  with  thankfulness  the  crumbs  of  life  ; 
To  press  back  tears  that  else  would  dim  the  sight ; 
To  choke  down  sobs  that  else  would  rend  the  throat ; 
To  bear  the  sorrows  that  are  laid  on  them, 
Sometimes  by  hands  that  should  be  their  support. 
For  this  are  women  made. 

«•  And  what  is  their  reward  ? 
A  year  or  two  of  love — sweet,  but  soon  cold  ; 
A  gleam  or  two  of  sun,  soon  hid  by  clouds  ; 
A  fervent  kiss — a  hand-clasp — an  embrace — 
A  kind  word,  and  the  dear-bought  privilege 
Of  bearing  pains  and  sorrows  not  their  own — 
The  rest  is  vain  regret. 

"  Isn't  that  dreadful  ?  "  she  asked,  falter- 
ing a  little  over  the  last  line. 

"Dreadful  !"  assented  Moorlake  ;  "and 
written,  of  course,  by  a  woman." 

"  Of  course.     I  wonder  what  made  her  so 

bitter  and  sad  ?    A  man,  I  suppose." 

73 


The  Middle  Course 

11  It  is  not  always  like  that.  Men  become 
pessimists  too,  you  know,  through  women." 

"  I'm  so  glad  ! "  Althea  almost  smiled.  I 
wish  I  could  meet  one." 

"  One  sits  before  you,"  said  Moorlake. 
He  also  was  smiling  slightly,  and  a  little 
color  had  risen  in  his  pale  face. 

"  You  ?  Impossible  !  You  are  too  strong 
and  wise  and  well  balanced  to  let  such  a 
poor,  inadequate  thing  as  a  woman  change 
your  life." 

"  Who  told  you  I  was  all  those  nice 
ihings  ? " 

"  Several  people — but  I  knew  it  before." 

"  Do  you  know,  Mrs.  North,"  said  Moor- 
lake,  after  a  slight  pause  full  of  interest  for 
both,  "you  have  a  very  unwholesome  effect 
on  me  ?  You  positively  make  me  morbid, 
and  you  cause  me  to  talk  about  myself. 
That  will  never  do.  You  mustn't  look  over 
my  wall,  you  know  !  " 

"  I  can't  !  "  she  protested.     "  I  can't  see 
74 


The   Middle  Course 

a  thing.  It's  much  too  high  and  has  spikes 
on  top.  But  you  are  rather  unkind  to  go 
about  like  a  fascinating  novel  with  the  pages 
uncut." 

"  Do  you  prefer  men  who  make  their 
moan  to  every  new  acquaintance  ? "  he 
asked. 

She  shrank  a  little  and  changed  color. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  I  was 
forgetting  that  we  are  strangers." 

Most  men  would  have  found  this  an  op- 
portunity for  a  pretty  speech.  Moorlake 
only  observed :  "  Not  quite  strangers,  I 
hope."  Then  he  added :  "  What  is  the 
reason  there  is  so  much  unhappiness  among 
women,  especially  of  late  years  ?  Is  it  be- 
cause you  are  idle  and  fanciful  ? — or  what 
is  it  ?" 

"  Because  we  are  idealists,  and  we  won't 
accept  the  world  as  it  is  ;  and  the  world  to 
most  women  means— some  man." 

"  I  think  that  diagnosis  is  too  flattering  to 

75 


The  Middle  Course 

us,  don't  you  ?  There  are  many  women 
just  now  who  appear  to  be  quite  independ- 
ent of  us." 

"  Who  appear  so  ;  but  in  reality  you  will 
find,  if  you  look,  that  the  eternal  masculine 
is  at  the  bottom  of  all  their  restless  striv- 
ings. They  work  to  forget,  most  of  them. 
I  suppose  work  dulls  the  pain  of  one's 
heart,  but  it  can't  cure  it.  It's  only  a  tem- 
porary anaesthetic.  Do  you  suppose  if  I  am 
unhappy  and  scrub  a  floor,  or  write  a  novel, 
as  the  case  may  be,  that  when  my  floor  is 
clean  or  my  novel  written  I  won't  be  just  as 
unhappy  as  I  was  before  ? " 

"  Possibly,"  said  Moorlake.  "  Go  on  and 
tell  me  more.  You  interest  me  enor- 
mously." 

"  The  more  I  see  of  life  the  less  I  under- 
stand it,"  Althea  continued,  her  eyes  and 
cheeks  burning.  She  was  at  that  moment 
compellingly  attractive.  "  It  seems  to  me 

as  if  Providence  had  put  us  all  down  on  this 

76 


The   Middle  Course 

earth  like  a  mass  of  blind  kittens.  We 
crawl  and  mew,  and  scratch  and  knock  into 
one  another,  and  have  no  idea  why  we're 
here  or  wrhere  we're  going.  As  soon  as  one 
kitten  gets  to  love  another  it  loses  it  ;  we 
have  scarcely  got  our  eyes  open  when  we're 
snatched  away  to  some  other  strange  place, 
before  we  have  a  chance  to  do  more  than  to 
wonder  what  it's  all  about." 

Moorlake  leaned  forward  and  looked  at 
her  intently.  Her  eyes  shone  with  tears. 

"  My  dear  lady  !  "  he  said,  in  a  deep, 
tender  voice,  "  is  that  really  your  idea  of 
life?" 

"  Sometimes — not  always.  It  is  to-day." 
She  tried  to  smile,  and  failing,  got  up  and 
stood  at  the  window,  with  her  back  to  him. 
He  came  and  stood  near  her — very  near, 
though  there  was  no  actual  contact.  His 
proximity  thrilled  her  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Dear  Mrs.   North,"  he   said,  in   a   low 

voice,  "  I  am  years  older  than  you  are,  and 

77 


The  Middle  Course 

therefore  perhaps  a  little  wiser.  Believe 
me,  you  are  not  a  blind  kitten  !  Life  is  full 
of  sunshine  for  you  if  you  will  look  for  it. 
We  all  go  through  a  trying  period  in  which 
we  feel  that  we  are  failures.  No  one  worth 
his  salt  escapes  that  phase.  But  by-and- 
bye  we  recognize  what  our  work  in  the 
world  is  to  be.  We  cease  to  expect  great 
happiness,  but  we  find  resignation." 

Althea  turned  her  face  toward  him. 

"  I^ave  you  found  it  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  think  so,"  he  said,  gravely. 

"And  with  it — indifference,"  she  said. 

"  I  hope  so — but  I  am  not  sure." 

There  was  a  curious  spark  in  his  eyes  as 
he  spoke. 

"  Friendship  is  left  for  all  of  us,"  Althea 
cried,  impulsively,  almost  with  pleading  in 
her  voice.  "  Be  my  friend  !  Help  me  !  I 
do  so  need  a  friend  !  I  felt  at  once  that  I 
could  trust  you.  Be  my  friend  !  " 

"  I  can't,"  he  said,  almost  roughly.    "You 
78 


The   Middle  Course 

can't  trust  me.     You  mustn't— I  don't  trust 
myself  !  "     He  flushed  scarlet. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  understand  me  ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. "You  ought  to — you're  not  like 
other  men.  I  mean  what  I  say.  I  have 
dreamed  for  years  of  such  a  friendship, 
which  should  be  a  constant  consolation  for 
all  that  one  suffers.  One  gets  bruised  and 
battered  on  the  sharp  corners  of  life,  and 
the  regard,  the  interest  of  a  good  man  would 
be  a  healing  balm." 

She  stood  and  looked  at  him  with  eyes 
full  of  a  pure  pleading.  He  did  not  misun- 
derstand her.  He  took  her  hand  very 
gently  and  led  her  back  to  her  seat.  Then 
he  sat  down  beside  her. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  North,"  he  said,  gravely, 
"  it  is  impossible.  There  is  no  such  friend- 
ship." 

"  There  is  ! "  she  persisted.  "  I  say 
there  is  !  There  shall  be.  I  will  make  it 
true." 

79 


The   Middle  Course 

"  What  you  call  friendship  has  another 
name,"  he  said. 

"  Won't  you  believe  me  that  I  didn't 
mean  that  ?"  she  begged. 

"  I  am  quite  certain  you  did  not,"  said 
Moorlake.  "  But  I  know,  and  you  don't. 
It  might  be  possible  for  you,  but  not  for  a 
man.  We  are  not  angels." 

"  Don't  tell  me  that.  I  know  there  is  a 
middle  course." 

"  Not  for  us  men.  Our  motto  is,  'All  or 
nothing.' " 

They  had  both  regained  their  self-com- 
mand. 

"  I  shall  always  persist,"  said  Althea,  "that 
I  am  right." 

Moorlake  rose  to  go. 

"You  may  try  the  'middle  course '  in 
thirty  years — but  not  now,  please,  if  you 
value  our  peace  of  mind." 

"  Please  believe,  Mr.  Moorlake,"  said  Al- 


80 


The   Middle  Course 

thea,  as  she  shook  hands  with  him,  "that 
I  am  not  always  hysterical." 

A  smile  was  his  only  -answer. 

As  he  walked  away  he  thought  :  "  A  most 
unhappy  woman.  There  is  only  one  thing 
that  could  make  her  more  unhappy,  and  that 
shall  never  come  to  her  through  me." 

The  next  day  Oliver  North  unexpect- 
edly returned  and  carried  his  family  off  to 
America. 

Unkind  circumstances — or  a  merciful 
Providence — kept  Moorlake  and  Althea 
apart  for  four  months. 


Si 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN    INVITATION    TO   TEA 

FOR  several  years  Mrs.  Hilyer  had  been  a 
widow.  She  had  a  daughter  of  fifteen, 
though  she  herself  looked  marvelously 
young  without  the  aid  of  art.  The  girl  was 
in  France,  at  a  school  where  accomplish- 
ments were  plentiful  though  food  was  scanty. 
Mrs.  Hilyer  very  much  disliked  having  a 
daughter  of  fifteen  in  evidence  ;  besides  it 
was  so  bad  for  the  child  to  meet  men,  and 
Mrs.  Hilyer's  house  was  full  of  them  of  an 
afternoon. 

The  deceased  Hilyer  had  been  an  easy- 
going, genial  person  in  the  City — the  sort  of 
man  who  slaps  a  friend  on  the  back  with  one 
hand  to  conceal  the  fact  that  the  other  is  in 

the  friend's  pocket.     Clarice  had   been    a 

83 


The   Middle  Course 

great  help  to  him.  She  attracted  almost 
everybody  who  knew  her  ;  the  occasional 
dissentient  voices  were  so  few  and  faint  that 
the  general  paean  of  praise  drowned  them. 
Clarice  got  a  very  amusing,  pleasant  circle 
about  her.  She  had  a  great  many  men 
friends,  and  a  number  of  women  liked  and 
admired  her.  There  was  one  man  partic- 
ularly— George  Watson — who  had  been  for 
years  very  much  in  evidence.  People  said 
the  friendship  was  extremely  pretty  and 
manifestly  innocent,  because  they  used  to 
kiss  each  other  good-night  in  public.  When 
Hilyer  died  somebody  said,  "  Now  she'll 
marry  Watson."  But  a  cynic  replied  :  "  Men 
don't  marry  widows  they've  kissed  as 
wives." 

Certainly  the  marriage  did  not  come  off. 
Clarice  Hilyer  continued  to  live  in  a  small 
house  in  Cheyne  Walk  and  appeared  to  en- 
joy life  as  much  as  ever.  During  her  varied 

experience  in  matters  of  the  heart  she  had 

84 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

the  rare  good  sense  to  avoid  concentration. 
The  woman  that  concentrates  suffers.  She 
only  tires  the  man  she  loves,  for  nothing 
bores  a  man  so  much  as  excessive  affection. 
She  may  give  her  body  to  be  burned  to 
please  him,  but  it  will  only  annoy  him. 
The  Indian  widows  used  to  wait  for  this 
sacrifice  till  their  lords  were  past  being 
bored  by  it. 

Clarice  could  keep  a  leash  of  admirers 
well  in  hand.  Her  nature  was  complex  and 
sinuous  ;  compared  to  Althea's  it  was  what 
Bradshaw  is  to  an  A  B  C — when  you  were 
once  started  you  couldn't  tell  when  or  where 
you  would  arrive. 

During  a  Winter  spent  in  Rome  Clarice 
became  acquainted  with  Moorlake. 

Henceforth  other  men  had  few  attractions 
for  her.  She  tried  every  resource  at  her 
command  to  gain  his  love  ;  she  never  left 
anything  to  chance,  but  marked  out  her 

plan  of  life  as  women  draw  a  pattern  in  a 

85 


The  Middle  Course 

tea  cloth,  afterward  folio  wing  it  out  with  em- 
broidery silk.  She  knew  what  she  wanted 
very  distinctly,  and  when  her  silk  grew 
knotted  or  broke  she  picked  it  out  or  cut  it 
off  and  began  again.  She  never  had  those 
fatal  moments  of  frankness  which  make  a 
woman  blurt  out  things  in  five  minutes  that 
spoil  the  work  of  years.  She  studied  Moor- 
lake  as  a  musician  studies  a  score,  a  painter  a 
model  ;  and  the  more  she  studied  the  more 
she  found  that  the  moon  she  was  crying  for 
was  only  a  burnt-out  crater.  It  took  all  her 
exquisite  self-control  to  keep  back  the  mad 
bitterness  of  the  discovery.  The  sculptor 
was  as  hard  as  his  marble  ;  and  his  beautiful, 
almost  stately,  courtesy  to  all  women  only 
added  a  sting  to  the  despair  of  the  one  that 
loved  him. 

For  fifteen  years  Moorlake  had  loved  the 
memory  of  one  woman.  What  had  been 
the  history — whether  she  were  alive  or  dead 

— no  one  knew,  and  no  one  dared  ask  him. 

86 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

In  his  early  days  he  had  been  all  made  up 
of  sentiment  and  passion.  Some  cruel  dis- 
appointment dried  up  the  one  and  left  little 
of  the  other.  He  avoided  all  intimate  rela- 
tions with  women.  He  was  accustomed  to 
say  that  society  loses  half  its  charm  when 
people  confide  their  troubles  to  one  another. 
Before  this  reserve  of  character,  this  killing 
indifference,  all  Clarice's  weapons  fell  power- 
less. Moorlake  had  one  very  charming 
quality,  however  :  he  always  knew  how  to 
save  a  woman's  self-respect.  If  any  fem- 
inine admirer  became  indiscreetly  pressing 
in  her  attentions,  by  a  happy  knack  he  man- 
aged to  make  it  appear  that  in  reality  it  was 
he  who  had  taken  the  initiative  ;  whereas  he 
spent  a  great  part  of  his  life  in  repelling 
such  attacks. 

When  Clarice  Hilyer  left  Rome  she  lost 
sight  of  him.  Once  she  wrote  to  him,  and 
received  a  prompt  reply — a  perfect  model 

of  a  friendly  letter,  cool,  pleasant,  non-com- 

87 


The   Middle  Course 

mittal.  There  their  intercourse  ended. 
On  the  night  when  they  met  at  the  Vincents' 
house  Clarice  had  come  because  she  acci- 
dentally heard  that  he  was  dining  there. 
It  was  not  till  Winter  that  she  saw  him  again. 
They  met  at  a  Sunday  luncheon,  and  found 
themselves  next  each  other  at  table. 

Clarice  opened  fire  by  saying  :  "  I  want 
so  much  to  see  your  studio.  How  does  it 
compare  with  the  Roman  one  ?  " 

"Very  much  as  the  English  climate  com- 
pares with  the  Italian,"  Moorlake  replied, 
smiling,  and  ignoring  the  first  part  of  her 
sentence. 

"  Ah,  one  misses  the  sun,"  she  assented. 
<(  Do  you  think  you  are  going  to  like  Chel- 
sea ? " 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  yet — but  inasmuch  as  I 
am  a  near  neighbor  of  yours — "  Another 
smile  finished  the  sentence. 

Clarice  smiled  also.     She  was  too  clever 

ever  to  look  sentimental. 

88 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

"  Neighbors  are  proverbially  strangers," 
she  said.  "  Perhaps  we  shall  meet  occasion- 
ally on  the  Embankment." 

"  It  is  a  fine  place  for  constitutionals.  I 
think  I  shall  become  fond  of  the  river,  even 
when  it  is  cold  and  gray,  as  it  is  now." 

"  Your  mother  is  with  you  ?" 

"  Yes." 

During  the  brief  pause  that  ensued  the 
man  on  the  other  side  of  Mrs.  Hilyer  spoke 
to  her. 

It  was  not  till  some  minutes  later  that  she 
turned  swiftly  and  said,  in  an  undertone  : 
"  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  we  ought  to  be 
friends.  We  have  both  outlived  our  illu- 
sions, and  we  are  both — lonely." 

Her  voice  shook  a  little. 

"  I  thought  loneliness  was  one  of  the  few 
things  not  to  be  had  in  London,"  said 
Moorlake.  "  As  for  you,  you  are  surrounded 
all  day  by  an  admiring  throng,  and  have  no 

time  to  be  alone." 

89 


The  Middle  Course 

"  There  is  a  loneliness  of  the  heart,  I 
should  say,  if  people  hadn't  ceased  to  plead 
guilty  of  having  such  things  as  hearts.  You 
boast  of  being  quite  immune,  I  believe." 

"  Don't  accuse  me  of  anything  so  ill-bred 
as  boasting  !  But  I  always  think  that 
hearts  are  best  kept  in  the  background, 
don't  you  ? " 

"  Or  dispensed  with  altogether.  Have 
you  seen  Mrs.  Oliver  North  since  her  re- 
turn ? " 

His  companion's  abruptness  confused 
Moorlake,  as  perhaps  it  was  intended  to  do. 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  feeling  sud- 
denly guilty,  he  didn't  know  why,  and  then 
said,  simply,  "  No  ;  have  you  ? " 

11  No,  but  I  hear  they  are  very  unhappy." 
i 
Here  again  a  diversion  occurred,  and  the 

subject  was  not  renewed.  But  the  one 
allusion  had  the  effect  of  sending  Moorlake 
to  Pont  street  that  afternoon. 

He  was  in  his  mind  so  strenuously  opposed 
90 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

to  cultivating  any  intimacy  with  Althea  that 
it  was  almost  with  a  sense  of  surprise  he 
found  himself  in  her  drawing-room. 

A  number  of  persons  had  been  lunching 
with  the  Norths,  but  the  last  one  had  gone, 
and  Oliver  was  out. 

As  Moorlake  entered  he  received  a  dis- 
tinct impression  of  the  lassitude  and  dejec- 
tion of  Mrs.  North's  bearing — the  worn,  tired 
look  on  her  face.  In  moments  of  animation 
the  lines  were  smoothed  away  ;  but  now 
that  she  fancied  herself  alone  they  were  very 
apparent. 

At  sight  of  Moorlake  she  seemed  almost 
agitated.  A  sudden  gleam  of  joy  swept  over 
her  face.  He  did  not  know — what  was  in- 
deed the  case — that  for  four  months  she  had 
craved  a  sight  of  him. 

The  springs  of  sympathy  surged  up  within 
him,  and  there  was  real  feeling  in  his  tone 
as  he  took  her  hand  and  asked  her  how  she 
was. 

91 


The   Middle  Course 

"  Oh,  I'm  unspeakably  glad  to  get  home  !  " 
she  said,  smiling  brightly. 

"  And  yet,"  he  said,  sitting  beside  her  on 
the  long  sofa  before  the  wood  fire — "  and 
yet  you  have  come  from  what  was  your 
home." 

"  Yes— in  a  way,  but  not  in  any  true  sense. 
I  never  felt  contented  there.  England  was 
somewhere  in  my  blood  calling  to  me  ;  and 
when  I  came  here  I  at  once  recognized  its 
claim  on  me." 

"  That  is  very  pleasant  for  us  to  hear  !  n 
said  Moorlake.  "  How  did  New  York  strike 
you  after  your  absence  ?  " 

"  As  a  place  that  is  not  over-comfortable 
for  the  rich  and  quite  impossible  for  the 
poor.  One  must  be  either  a  millionaire  or 
a  pauper  to  live  there.  What  strikes  me  as 
remarkable  whenever  I  go  back  is  the  num- 
ber of  well-dressed  women.  Hardly  any- 
one looks  dowdy.  And  yet  one  knows  that 

they  are  not  all  rich." 

92 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

"  American  women  spend  a  great  deal  on 
their  clothes,  I  have  always  been  told,"  ob- 
served Moorlake. 

"Yes,  when  they  have  the  money; — and 
sometimes,  I  fancy,  when  they  haven't,"  re- 
plied Althea.  "You  can't  conceive  how 
grotesque  it  is  to  see  women  in  beautiful 
gowns  hanging  on  to  a  strap  in  an  electric 
tram  car— liable  to  be  sent  flying  at  any 
moment  into  the  laps  of  strange  men  who 
do  not  get  up  to  give  them  a  seat !  The  air 
is  full  of  clashing  of  bells,  snorting  of  trains 
overhead,  clattering  of  hoofs,  rolling  of 
wheels  !  It  is  a  pandemonium,  which  grows 
worse  every  year." 

"And  how  did  your  husband  get  on 
there  ?  Does  he  like  it  ?  "  asked  Moorlake. 

"  Not  particularly  ;  we  weren't  there  long, 
only  in  the  Autumn,  a  few  weeks  ago.  In 
August  Oliver  was  yachting  ;  he  is  always 
yachting  when  he  is  not  mountain-climbing, 

you  know." 

93 


The   Middle  Course 

11  And  you — I  hope  you  amused  yourself. 
I  suppose  you  have  a  great  many  friends." 

"Yes — but  one  does  so  drop  out  in  the 
course  of  a  year  or  two !  Everything 
changes.  New  people  are  always  cropping 
up  and  taking  the  old  houses  one  used  to 
know." 

"  It  is  becoming  so  here,  too." 

"  But  London  is  in  a  measure  conserva- 
tive. One  sees  the  same  butlers  at  the  same 
houses  year  after  year.  The  servant  ques- 
tion in  America  has  got  beyond  anything 
you  can  imagine." 

"  And  on  the  whole  you  are  glad  to  be 
here?" 

"  Oh,  inexpressibly  glad." 

She  looked  as  if  she  were  very  sincere. 
,    "What  plans  has   your   husband  made  ? 
Is  he  going  to  run  away  again  soon  ? "  asked 
Moorlake. 
,    4<  Not  yet,  I  think,"  she  answered.     "  We 

•shall  stay  at  home  now  for  a  time." 

94 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

"  Have  you  any  special  projects  for  the 
Winter  ?  "  asked  Moorlake.  "  I  mean,  have 
you  a  hobby  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Althea  ;  "  I  wish  -I  had  !  A 
middle  age  without  hobbies  is  worse  than 
*  old  age  without  cards,'  which  has  been 
spoken  of  as  such  a  terrible  thing." 

"  Middle  age  is  nothing  to  you,  Mrs. 
North,"  replied  Moorlake,  "  and  need  be 
nothing  for  at  least  fifteen  years  to  come." 

"  I  am  over  thirty,"  said  Althea,  smiling, 
*'  and  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  I  was  only 
half  through  my  pilgrimage." 

Moorlake  raised  his  hand  as  one  playfully 
threatens  a  child. 

"  Again  the  mournful  note  !  I  thought 
we  were  to  have  no  more  '  blind  kittens  !' ' 
he  said,  with  a  humorous  light  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Oh,  haven't  you  forgotten  the  blind  kit- 
ten yet  ?  "  asked  she.  "  I've  been  one  for 

months,  and  sometimes  a  deaf  and  dumb 

95 


The   Middle  Course 

one — which  is  hard  to  believe  of  a  woman,  I 
know — but  it's  true." 

Her  face  wore  a  look  half-sad,  half-merry, 
which  made  her  charming.  Moorlake's 
heart  relented.  Why  must  he  always  assume 
the  highly  didactic  pose  in  her  presence  ? 
He  bent  toward  her  slightly  and  let  his  eyes, 
in  all  their  expressive  beauty,  rest  on  hers. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "there  are  two 
reasons  why  I  must  never  be  an  intimate 
friend  of  yours— can  you  guess  them  ?  " 

Althea  felt  a  quite  irrational  excitement 
pulsing  through  her  veins.  She  withdrew 
her  eyes  and  said,  half -nervously  :  "  I  can't 
guess.  Tell  me." 

"  One  is,"  said  the  sculptor,  "  that  I  am 
so  cynical  and  morbid  that  I  should  only 
make  you  more  low-spirited,  and  the  other 
— well,  I  should  want  more  than  friendship 
has  to  offer." 

As  soon  as  he  had  uttered  these  words  he 

cursed   his   recklessness.     Their   effect   on 

96 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

Althea  was  intense.  A  wave  of  color  swept 
over  her  face,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  pa- 
thetic pallor.  Her  bosom  heaved.  What 
was  there  to  answer  ?  At  such  moments  an 
impulsive  woman  who  loves  must  make  a 
superhuman  effort  at  self-control,  or  break 
down  and  betray  herself. 

Which  course  Althea  was  about  to  take 
remained  a  mystery,  for  at  the  very  moment 
that  she  was  trying  to  frame  a  reply,  Oliver 
North  entered. 

He  seemed  in  a  good  humor,  and  greeted 
Moorlake  warmly. 

"  Are  you  dining  out  to-night  ?  "  he  asked, 
presently. 

Moorlake  replied  that  he  was  not. 

"  Come  to  us  at  eight,  if  you'll  excuse 
such  an  informal  invitation,"  said  North. 
"  I  know  you  are  hard  to  catch.  Bertie 
Vincent  and  his  wife  are  coming.  You  will 
second  the  invitation,  won't  you,  Althea  ? " 

turning   to   his   wife.     She   was   feverishly 

T  97 


The   Middle  Course 

flushed,  but  Oliver's  careless  eye  did  not 
observe  the  fact. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  I  should  like  it  im- 
mensely," she  said  at  once.  Her  eyes  en- 
countered Moorlake's. 

"  May  I  really  ?"  he  asked,  almost  with 
eagerness. 

"  Certainly,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  Do 
come." 

"  Many  thanks,"  he  answered,  recovering 
his  conventional  tone,  which  seldom  de- 
serted him.  Then,  rising,  "  I  have  another 
call  to  make,"  he  added,  "  and  must  get  back 
to  Chelsea  to  dress,  and  also  to  tell  my 
mother  that  I'm  dining  out." 

He  shook  hands  with  the  Norths,  and 
Oliver  accompanied  him  downstairs,  talking 
agreeably  all  the  way. 

Althea's  mind  was  in  a  tumult  as  she  dressed 
for  dinner.  Cold-blooded,reasonable  women 
may  consider  as  preposterous  the  idea  of  a 

woman  falling  in  love  on  short  acquaintance 

98 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

and  without  great  encouragement.  But 
these  virtuous  critics  must  make  large  al- 
lowance for  temperament  and  circumstances. 
Althea's  unhappiness  was  not  merely  passive. 
Her  husband's  presence  acted  like  a  moral 
blister.  A  rankling  sense  of  wrong  and  in- 
justice inflicted  on  her  during  a  term  of 
years  incensed  her  constantly  against  him. 
She  had  no  illusions  left  in  regard  to  him. 
She  knew  that  she  never  could  be  even 
comfortable  or  peaceful  with  him  again. 
From  the  very  beginning,  from  her  first 
glimpse  of  Clement  Moorlake,  he  had  taken 
hold  of  her  imagination.  There  was  a  great 
void  in  her  life  waiting  to  be  filled,  and  to 
her  it  seemed  that  he,  of  all  men,  could  best 
fill  it.  The  words  that  he  had  allowed  to 
escape  his  disciplined  lips  to-day  set  her 
very  soul  on  fire.  She  did  not  realize — as 
many  naturally  pure  women  do  not— what  is 
involved  in  a  great  passion ;  that  no  matter 

how  large  the  spiritual  element  in  it  may  be, 

99 


The   Middle  Course 

there  is  the  insistent  clamoring  of  the 
earthly  nature  which  will  always  make  itself 
heard. 

To  her  Moorlake  was  a  hero  of  romance — 
perfect,  without  insipidity.  She  saw  only  the 
first  steps  of  the  path  on  which  she  had  set 
her  feet,  and  they  seemed  to  lead  upward. 
Women  can  go  on  much  longer  than  men  ig- 
noring the  bare  facts  of  passion,  or  they  can 
more  easily  wreathe  them  about  with  the 
garlands  of  sentiment.  When  the  flowers 
wither  and  fall  off  they  are  sorry,  startled, 
and  even  surprised. 

At  the  same  time  that  Althea  was  standing 
in  the  glare  of  electric  light,  mechanically 
preparing  for  her  next  meeting  with  Moor- 
lake,  he  was  steeped  in  a  poignant  sense  of 
what  he  had  done.  The  habit  of  reticence, 
which  he  had  painfully  cultivated  now  for 
many  years,  had  suddenly  failed  him.  He 
could  not  help  knowing  from  experience — 
though  neither  a  cad  nor  a  coxcomb— that  his 

TOO 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

personality  had  extraordinary  power  over 
women.  Being  that  rare  animal,  an  honor- 
able and  conscientious  man,  he  had  tried 
not  to  influence  them  in  the  slightest  degree. 
He  was  liberally  endowed  with  every  quality 
that  goes  to  make  a  successful  flirt ;  but  his 
conscience,  no  less  than  his  distaste  for  such 
conquests,  stood  in  the  way  of  his  being  one. 
It  is  astonishing  how  many  men,  who  are 
otherwise  gentlemen,  do  not  hesitate  to  make 
love  to  their  neighbors'  wives,  and  having 
done  so  fall  to  a  lower  depth  of  dishonor — 
that  of  failing  to  abide  by  the  result. 

If  there  was  one  thing  Clement  abhorred 
more  than  another  it  was  the  slightest  shade 
of  duplicity  in  a  man's  relations  with  women. 
He  could  understand — being  a  man,  not  an 
angel— that  there  might  be  circumstances 
under  which  you  might  have  the  misfortune 
to  love  your  neighbor's  wife.  But  if  you 
did,  and  should  in  any  way  compromise  the 

lady,  it  was  inconceivable  that  you  should 
101 


The  Middle  Course 

not  stand  by  her  before  the  world.  His 
opinion  was  that  a  man  ought  to  consider 
long  and  carefully  before  entering  on  an  af- 
faire with  a  woman  ;  but  that,  having  once 
decided  to  enter,  he  could  not  honorably 
draw  back. 

To  be  sure,  the  few  words  that  had  es- 
caped him  to-day  would  have  meant  to  some 
women  nothing  at  all.  But  he  knew  that 
Althea  was  different  ;  he  could  see  that  she 
waited  thirstily  for  every  sign  of  friendship 
and  affection — that  she  would  treasure  every 
utterance  of  his  like  an  evangel. 

It  was  this  knowledge  that  made  him 
feel  deeply  responsible.  Naturally  enough, 
he  was  not  absolutely  invulnerable.  Though 
he  always  told  himself  that  the  best  part  of 
his  nature  was  dead,  there  was  still  left 
much  that  was  emotional.  No  man  can  be 
constantly  appealed  to  by  a  charming,  de- 
voted woman  without  being  in  danger  of  re- 
sponding to  her  ;  and  with  a  kind,  chival- 
102 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

rous  man  there  is  always  the  subtle  tempta- 
tion to  make  the  woman  happy  with  such 
love  as  he  still  has  to  offer,  rather  than  to 
mortify  her  by  a  repulse,  no  matter  how 
gentle. 

Moorlake  was  shocked  to  find  that  he 
could  not  at  once  adjust  his  social  armor. 
The  "horse  chestnut  shell"  of  reserve, 
laughingly  alluded  to  by  Althea  in  a  former 
conversation,  would  not  fit  to-night.  "  After 
all,  what  a  bother  life  is ! "  he  thought. 
"  Men  and  women  are  natural  enemies ; 
where  the  sex  question  once  enters  into 
anything,  all  peace  and  pleasure  are  at  an 
end." 

He  scarcely  knew  the  state  of  his  own 
mind  as  he  rolled  along  in  a  humble  brown 
'bus  to  Pont  street.  When  he  saw  Althea 
his  trouble  deepened.  Her  eyes  said, 
"What  next?"  There  was  feverish  joy  in 
them — intense  expectancy.  Fortunately, 

the  Vincents  and  North  were  in  the  room ; 
103 


The  Middle  Course 

his  conventional  manner — "  priggish,"  Nellie 
Vincent  called  it— soon  returned  to  him. 

Althea  was  in  the  midst  of  a  tempest, 
moral  and  physical,  which  rendered  her  quite 
incapable  of  judging  wrhat  impression  she 
was  producing.  She  saw  Nellie  regarding 
her  with  unusual  interest.  She  was  afraid 
to  look  at  Clement,  who  sat  beside  her,  and 
she  ostentatiously  talked  with  Bertie  Vin- 
cent on  the  other  side.  She  felt  guilty. 
Though  so  little  had  happened — nothing,  in 
fact — the  world  seemed  changed.  She  was 
so  absurdly  ignorant  of  men  that  she  fancied 
a  stray,  careless  phrase  from  the  man  she 
loved  was  going  to  alter  the  universe. 

She  had  had  no  experience  of  the  crea- 
tures who  are  all  flames  and  darts  to-day  and 
all  indifference  and  contempt  to-morrow. 
Clement  was  a  good  man  ;  but  the  good  and 
the  bad  are  singularly  alike  when  it  comes  to 
dealings  with  their  natural  dupes.  They 

both  make  love  and  are  both  soon  sorry ;  only 
104 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

the  good  ones  pity  the  women,  while  the 
bad  ones  are  sorry  only  for  themselves. 

Oliver  North  was  a  very  charming  host 
when  nothing  had  happened  to  cross  him. 
He  was  far  from  being  deficient  in  brains, 
and  this  evening  he  was  unusually  entertain- 
ing. He  liked  the  Vincents  sincerely,  and 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  that  he  was  ever 
potentially  jealous  of  Moorlake.  Conversa- 
tion flowed  smoothly  on. 

Moorlake  remarked  that  Altheawas  not  at 
ease  in  the  presence  of  her  husband.  He 
guessed  that  North  had  a  way  of  taking  her 
to  task,  when  they  were  left  alone,  for  every- 
thing she  had  said.  Such  a  practice  soon 
freezes  the  most  spontaneous  woman.  There 
was  at  times  a  cutting  tone  in  North's  voice 
when  he  addressed  his  wife,  a  sort  of  sar- 
donic humor  in  his  allusions  to  her,  which 
quite  explained  her  want  of  ease.  Between 
her  wish  to  please  Clement  and  her  fear  of  of- 
fending Oliver,  Althea's  ordeal  was  a  trying 
105 


The   Middle  Course 

one.  North  was  the  kind  of  man  who  could 
not  let  even  a  culinary  failure  go  unnoticed. 
He  would  pause  in  the  midst  of  a  story  of 
mountain-climbing — one  of  his  hobbies — to 
observe  that  the  bread  sauce  was  like  a  poul- 
tice. This  evening  he  fell  foul  of  the  salad 
dressing. 

Althea  pressed  her  hands  together  in  a 
sort  of  small  nervous  panic. 

"  I'm  so  sorry  !  "  she  said  ;  "  I  ought  to 
have  made  it  myself." 

"  My  wife,"  said  North,  addressing  the 
company  in  general,  "  believes  in  doing 
nothing  herself  which  she  can  get  done  for 
her.  Hence  this  excess  of  vinegar." 

"I  thought  the  salad  particularly  nice," 
said  Bertie. 

"That's  right!— flatter  Althea.  She  thrives 
on  flattery.  You  see,  only  the  husband  has 
the  courage  to  tell  her  of  her  faults." 

u  That  makes  one  glad  that  England  is  not 

a  polyandrous  country,"  said  Nellie. 
1 06 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

"  '  Faithful  are  the  wounds  of  a  friend,  but 
the  kisses  of  an  enemy  are  deceitful,'  "  quoted 
Bertie.  "  Give  me  an  enemy  every  time." 

"  But  let  me  choose  my  enemy,  if  he  has 
to  kiss  me  !  "  laughed  Nellie. 

Althea  said  nothing  ;  she  felt  the  pity  in 
Moorlake's  eyes.  The  salad-dressing  inci- 
dent was  unimportant  in  itself,  but  it  was  a 
text  from  which  her  whole  married  life  might 
have  been  preached. 

After  dinner  North's  humor  changed  and 
he  became  affable  again. 

Bertie  sat  down  to  the  piano,  and  Nellie 
led  North  into  the  far  end  of  the  room  to 
look  at  some  new  photographs,  with  the  kind 
intent  to  leave  Althea  and  Clement  together. 
They  were  for  some  minutes  speechless. 
Althea  sat  stiff  and  upright  like  an  automa- 
ton, her  cheeks  burning — a  poor,  unhappy 
creature  who  had  been  pitchforked  by  fate 
into  the  wrong  environment,  or  placed  by 

Providence  in  a  hard  primary  school,  accord- 
107 


The   Middle  Course 

ing  as  one  inclines  to  the  pagan  or  the 
Christian  theory  of  life.  Moorlake  was 
thinking  how  he  pitied  her — how,  with  scarce- 
ly a  throb  of  his  lower  nature,  he  could  find 
it  in  his  heart  to  shelter  her  in  his  arms. 
She  inwardly  palpitated  with  what  she 
scarcely  recognized  yet  as  an  immense  love. 
Bertie  began  singing.  He  had  a  lovely 
tenor  voice,  which  he  made  light  of,  as  of  his 
other  gifts.  The  second  verse  of  his  song — 
one  of  the  perfect  love  songs  of  the  world — 
became  thrilling  as  he  sang  it— he,  the  happy 
married  man  with  no  yearnings  for  a  change 
of  lot.  The  eternal,  passionate  unrest  that 
is  in  the  heart  of  every  artist — writer,  singer, 
player — burst  out  in  the  lines  : 

"  Wenn  du  mich  liebst  so  ivie  ich  dich, 
Soil  ich  dein  eigen  sein — 
Heiss  ivie  der  Stahl  und  fest  wie  der  Stein 
Soil  deine  Liebe  sein" 

11  Do  you  know  German  ? "  whispered  Al- 

thea. 

1 08 


An  Invitation  to  Tea 

"  Enough  to  understand,"  said  Clement. 

Bertie  went  on  and  plunged  into  Grieg's 
"  Ich  Liebe  Dich  "  — and  how  much  Grieg 
has  to  answer  for  is  known  to  all  those  who 
have  heard  that  song  sung  as  it  should  be. 
Clement  lost  himself  in  the  music. 

It  was  not  he,  but  somebody  else  in  tem- 
porary possession  of  his  body,  who  leaned 
over  to  Althea  and  said  : 

"  You  have  never  been  to  my  studio. 
Won't  you  come  to  tea  with  me  one  day  this 
week  ? " 

She  looked  at  him  and  answered,  without 
hesitation,  swiftly  and  softly  : 

"Thank  you.     Tuesday?" 

"Yes;  about  five." 

"  I  will  come." 

Nellie  came  back  from  the  corner  with 
the  photographs,  but  the  word  was  spoken 
and  the  hour  of  fate  had  struck. 


109 


CHAPTER  VII 

CONFESSION 

TUESDAY  arrived  in  due  course,  for  good 
or  ill.  As  the  hour  of  five  approached  Moor- 
lake  was  restless.  He  wanted  to  smoke,  but 
would  not,  lest  the  atmosphere  should  be 
contaminated  by  the  fumes  of  tobacco.  He 
wished  Mrs.  North  to  find  everything  as 
fresh  and  charming  as  possible.  He  had  ar- 
ranged some  flowers  with  his  own  hands  ;  a 
row  of  small  glasses  full  of  violets  stood  on 
the  high,  carved  mantel-piece  and  a  cluster 
of  long-stemmed  pink  roses  made  a  delicious 
spot  of  color  on  the  table.  A  fire  of  logs  was 
crackling  in  a  hearth  of  De  Morgan  tiles,  dif- 
fusing a  faint  acrid  perfume  through  the 
great  room.  There  were  red-shaded  lamps 

burning.    Moorlake  hated  electric  light,  and 
in 


The   Middle  Course 

used  it  only  in  the  adjoining  room,  where  he 
worked.  The  so-called  studio  was  really  a 
combination  of  library  and  sitting-room, 
where  he  spent  his  leisure  hours  at  home 
and  occasionally  entertained  his  friends. 

To-day  he  was  more  nervous  and  expect- 
ant than  he  had  been  for  years.  He  was 
surprised  at  his  state  of  mind.  He  desired 
Mrs.  North's  presence,  and  yet  dreaded  it. 
He  asked  which  of  the  two  warring  person- 
alities in  his  nature  was  to  have  the  upper 
hand — the  gentleman  or  the  scoundrel. 

He  realized  that  what  was  outwardly  a 
friendly,  casual  visit  and  an  ordinary  tea- 
drinking  was  perhaps  to  be  the  turning-point 
in  his  relations  with  Althea  ;  and  he  swore 
to  himself  that  he  would  say  and  do  nothing 
that  could  render  her  more  unhappy  in  the 
long  run. 

At  a  quarter  to  five  the  bell  rang. 

In  a  few  moments  the  servant  entered  and 
asked  if  he  would  see  Mrs.  Hilyer. 

112 


Confession 

Moorlake  was  intensely  annoyed,  but  did 
not  dare  to  refuse. 

"  Mrs.  Hilyer  knows  that  I'm  at  home  ? " 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  maid. 

11  Ask  her  to  come  up,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Hilyer  entered  almost  directly.  In 
the  subdued  light  her  small,  pretty  face 
looked  pale — perhaps  also  because  it  stood 
out  against  a  high  collar  of  dark  fur. 

"  Am  I  interrupting  you  ? "  she  asked, 
holding  out  her  hand. 

"  No,"  said  Moorlake,  with  cold  civility  ; 
"  I  seldom  work  after  dark.  Won't  you  sit 
down  ? "  and  he  drew  a  chair  toward  the 
fire. 

"  Not  yet — I  want  to  look  about  first. 
What  a  room  for  a  dance  ! — but  you  ought 
to  have  electric  light." 

"  I  don't  care  for  dancing,  you  know." 

"  Perhaps  your  friends  might !  " 

"  I  am  not  an  altruistic  person,  I'm  afraid." 
8  113 


The   Middle  Course 

"  How  selfish  men  are!  " 

Clarice  was  frozen  by  his  manner — by  the 
invulnerability  of  the  armor  in  which  she 
had  never  been  able  to  find  a  crevice. 

Moorlake  was  averse  to  rudeness,  but  he 
feared  intensely  to  make  her  prolong  her 
visit. 

"  How  does  the  room  compare  with  my 
Roman  studio  ? "  he  asked,  more  pleasantly, 
while  he  strained  his  ears  for  the  sound  of 
wheels  or  the  tinkle  of  a  door-bell. 

"  It  is  very  nice,  so  far  as  I  can  see  in  this 
dim,  religious  light.  Ah,  violets!  "  and  she 
daintily  sniffed  the  warm  air.  "  I  believe 
you  are  expecting  someone  to  tea  ! " 

"  My  mother  sometimes  has  tea  with  me 
here,"  said  Clement.  "You  know  she  lives 
with  me."  He  could  not  help  smiling  at  his 
own  words. 

Clarice  laughed. 

"  How   funny   you   are  !    And    yet   you 

haven't  much  sense  of  humor,"  she  said. 
114 


Confession 

"  Perhaps  that's  why  I  am  amusing  to  my 
friends,"  said  he.  "  Yes,  I  suppose  I'm  a 
very  dull,  humdrum  sort  of  person." 

"  You  don't  look  it !  "  and  Clarice  fixed 
her  penetrating  eyes  on  his  face.  "  You 
appear  at  this  moment  to  be  in  a  fever  of 
expectation — or  annoyance.  Which  is  it  ? 
You  have  a  beautiful  red  spot  in  the  middle 
of  each  cheek.  Never  saw  you  with  a  color 
before.  It  makes  you  look  years  younger." 

At  any  other  time  her  impertinence  would 
have  entertained  him,  but  just  now,  when 
his  heart  was  in  his  ears,  he  had  scarcely  a 
thought  for  her. 

"  I  will  have  pity  on  you,"  she  went  on, 
"  and  leave  you.  I  came  really  to  know 
whether  you  would  dine  with  me  to-morrow 
night  and  go  to  the  play.  I've  got  a  box  at 
the  Lyceum." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Moorlake,  "  but 
I  am  engaged." 

Clarice  rose. 


The   Middle  Course 

11  Too  bad  !  "  she  said,  and  at  that  mo- 
ment the  bell  rang.  "  Ah  !  There  comes 
the  unknown  she  !  I  must  fly  !  I'm  afraid 
we  shall  meet  in  the  hall  !  "  and  with  a  light 
laugh  Mrs.  Hilyer  left  the  room,  without 
further  leave-taking. 

Moorlake  was  intensely  annoyed.  Before 
he  could  collect  his  thoughts  the  maid  an- 
nounced Mrs.  North.  She  came  toward  him 
in  great  trepidation. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  vexed!"  she  exclaimed,  as 
he  took  her  hand.  "  I  ran  against  Mrs.  Hil- 
yer on  the  stairs.  What  will  she  think  ?  " 

11  What  could  she  think  except  that  you 
kindly  stepped  in  to  see  me,  as  she  did  ? " 
said  Clement,  reassuringly.  "  You  know 
quite  well  that  if  there  were  any  harm  in 
your  coming  here  I  should  not  have  invited 
you.  I  didn't  like  to  tell  my  maid  not  to 
let  in  anyone  but  you ;  servants  gossip  so." 

"  And  is  she  used  to  this  sort  of  thing  ? — 

your  having  women  to  tea,  I  mean  ?"  asked 
116 


Confession 

Althea,  looking  about  her  vaguely,  not  yet 
recovered  from  her  perturbation. 

"  I  don't  have  many,"  said  Clement,  smil- 
ing at  the  unconscious  little  note  of  jealousy 
in  her  question.  "  But  there  are  enough  vis- 
itors at  the  house  to  make  your  call  quite 
ordinary." 

"  Not  to  you,  I  hope,"  said  Althea,  with 
a  timid  but  bright  smile. 

He  pressed  her  hand  for  an  instant. 

"  Give  me  your  cape,  and  take  this  chair," 
he  said,  taking  her  wrap  from  her. 

"  How  pretty  it  is  here  !  And  the  flowers 
— so  fresh  and  sweet  !  Did  you  get  them 
because  of  me  ?  " 

He  could  hardly  bear  the  look  in  her  eyes 
as  she  turned  to  him— an  expression  of  pure 
worship  and  trust. 

"  How  good  and  thoughtful  you  are  to 
me!"  she  went  on.  "I  never  knew  that 
men  could  be  like  that  till  I  met  you." 

She  was  not  in  a  condition  of  mind  to 
117 


The  Middle  Course 

weigh  her  words.  Moorlake  saw  this,  and 
had  to  fight  down  his  own  rising  passion — a 
passion  compounded  more  of  pity  than  of 
love. 

"  How  often  must  I  tell  you  that  I'm  no 
better  than  other  men  ?  "  he  said,  gently. 

"  You  can't  make  me  believe  it  !  "  she 
said.  "  You're  the  first  man  who  has  ever 
brought  me  any  happiness." 

Her  sweet  face  was  turned  toward  him  in 
the  firelight,  her  eager,  shining  eyes  were 
fixed  on  his. 

"  Any  man  who  could  knowingly  make 
you  unhappy  can't  be  worth  much  !  "  said 
he,  impulsively,  forgetting  that  he  was  con- 
demning her  husband. 

Just  then  the  maid  entered  with  tea,  and 
the  conversation  became,  perforce,  conven- 
tional. When  she  had  left  the  room  Althea 
said  :  "  I  made  up  my  mind  not  to  tell  you 
my  troubles  to-day.  I  want  to  rest  here,  and 

forget." 

118 


Confession 

"Would  it  make  you  happier  to  tell  them  ? 
Could  I  help  you  ? "  he  asked.  "  I  have 
known  since  our  first  meeting  that  you  were 
unhappy,  but  you  have  never  told  me  why." 

"  But  you  know  !  you  feel  !  You've 
seen  me  with  Oliver  ;  how  could  you  not 
know?"  she  said.  "I  don't  know  how  I 
can  bear  my  life.  "  I  don't  want  to  be  dis- 
loyal, though  the  time  for  loyalty  seems  gone. 
He  has  thrown  me  away." 

"  Poor  man  !  "  said  Moorlake. 

"  You  pity  him  ?  "  asked  Althea,  amazed. 

"  I  pity  any  man,  however  unworthy,  who 
has  lost  your  love." 

Althea  flushed  deeply. 

"  He  never  had  my  love  !— such  love  as  I 
am  capable  of  now.  Listen.  Let  me  tell 
you  the  truth— a  part  of  the  truth.  I've 
come  to-day  because  I  couldn't  help  it.  I 
wanted  so  much  to  see  you  alone— away 
from  the  shams  of  society,  away  from  the 

jealous  espionage  of  the  man  who  grudges 
119 


The   Middle  Course 

me  even  my  friendships.  I've  got  to  the 
point  where  I  can't  go  on  without  support. 
The  struggle  is  awful.  You've  seen  me 
with  him — you  know.  It's  sinful  for  me  to 
live  with  him  any  longer.  Even  for  the 
sake  of  the  child  I  can't.  I  hate  the  sound 
of  his  voice — the  touch  of  his  hand.  I 
must  get  free.  I  shall  go  mad  if  I  don't  !  " 

She  was  trembling  with  violent  emotion. 
Moorlake  was  scarcely  less  stirred.  He 
took  her  hand  in  both  his  own  and  bent 
over  her.  "  Althea  !  "  he  said.  "  My  heart 
aches  for  you  !  " 

She  went  on,  wildly  :  "  He  has  crushed 
me  gradually,  year  after  year.  He  has  killed 
my  spirit — stolen  my  youth—broken  my 
heart  !  My  life  is  dust  and  ashes.  People 
call  him  a  good  man  ;  so  he  is,  without 
a  vice — only  the  vices  of  the  slave-driver 
and  the  torturer.  I  clung  to  him  for  years, 
and  he  has  unclasped  my  fingers  one  by 

one  !     If  he  would  strike  me  I  could  leave 
1 20 


Confession 

him  ;  if  he  were  unfaithful  I  should  be  free 
to  live  my  own  life.  But  he  is  only  cruel — 
cruel." 

She  broke  down  utterly  now  and  wept. 

Moorlake  knelt  beside  her  and  laid  his 
hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear  !  "  he  said,  his  voice 
vibrating  with  feeling,  "  I  can't  watch  you 
cry  like  this  !  " 

For  a  few  moments  she  clung  to  him  si- 
lently, while  her  sobs  moderated.  Her  face 
was  buried  in  her  hands.  His  touch  seemed 
an  anodyne  for  all  suffering. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  weakly  ;  "  I'm 
so  unstrung."  She  reached  out  one  hand 
and  laid  it  lightly  on  the  side  of  his  face. 

His  heart  throbbed  wildly. 

"  I  long  to  take  you  in  my  arms  and  shield 
you  against  the  world  ! "  he  said,  very  low. 
"  But  the  shield  would  be  but  a  target  to 
invite  the  arrows  of  the  world  !  " 

He   was  holding   himself  back  with  the 
121 


The   Middle  Course 

full  force  of  his  strong  will.  Her  instinct- 
ive caress  had  shaken  him  sorely. 

"  I  know — I  know,"  she  said.  "  But  there 
is  still  friendship.  You  have  said  that  there 
is  no  middle  course,  but  that  is  not  so.  I 
can't  hide  from  you  how  much  you  are  to 
me  ;  I  don't  feel  any  shame — why  should  I 
be  ashamed  to  love  what  is  high  and  noble  ? 
I  never  dreamed  that  you  could  care  for  me 
much,  but  I  know  you  are  my  friend. 
Aren't  you  ?  You  like  me  ? " 

She  was  not  touching  him  now,  but  her 
eyes  were  probing  his  own. 

"  My  dear,"  he  answered,  "  I  like  you 
only  too  well." 

"  Then  we  can  have  a  friendship,"  she 
said,  triumphantly — "a beautiful  secret  com- 
pact— a  bond  too  sacred  to  be  made  known 
to  any  but  ourselves.  I  will  make  our  love 
so  high  and  pure  and  stainless  that  God 
himself  could  not  chide  us  for  it.  Isn't  it 

possible  ? " 

122 


Confession 

"  A  dream,  dear  child,"  he  said,  sadly— 
"  a  beautiful  dream." 

"  Only  a  dream  ?  "  she  answered,  eagerly. 
"  You  hinted  once  that  there  had  been 
for  years  a  woman  in  your  life — a  love  that 
made  all  other  love  impossible.  I  don't 
ask  to  know  where  she  is — whether  she  be 
alive  or  dead  ;  I  ask  only  the  second  place. 
To  be  second  in  your  heart  would  be  hap- 
piness enough  for  me.  Ah,  do  you  despise 
me  ?  Am  I  unwomanly  ? " 

"Despise  you?"  he  cried.  "Despise 
you,  my  child  ?  Is  it  nothing  that  such  a 
woman  as  you  cares  for  me  ?  Is  it  nothing 
that  you  awaken  feelings  that  I  thought  were 
dead  ?  I  can't  have  your  beautiful  friend- 
ship ;  I've  told  you,  warned  you,  that  you 
mustn't  trust  me.  I  should  only  injure  you — 
make  your  life  harder  than  it  is,  believe  me." 

She  hid  her  face  once  more. 

"You  do  despise  me,"  she  said,  chok- 
ingly ;  "you  do  !" 

123 


The   Middle  Course 

"  So  little,"  he  answered,  "  that  I  wish  to 
God  I  were  a  different  man  and  you  a  free 
woman.  Two  things  hold  us  apart,  the 
power  of  the  past  and  my  affection  for  you. 
I  can't  offer  you  anything  that  won't  be  an 
insult  to  you." 

She  looked  up  with  a  white  face. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  you  don't  love  me  !  " 

"  I  care  so  much  for  you,"  he  said,  "  that 
I  won't  sacrifice  you." 

"  You  don't  understand  me  yet,"  Althea 
protested.  "  You  won't  understand  me. 
I  swear  that  I  want  to  be  your  friend — to  see 
you  sometimes — to  have  in  my  heart  the 
knowledge  that  one  man  cares  for  me — that 
I  care  for  and  believe  in  one  man." 

"  I  do  understand  you,"  he  said,  sadly, 
"  I  recognize  your  purity,  and  I  realize  that 
I  am— a  man." 

11  But  such  a  man  !  "  she  said  ;  "  so  much 
higher  and  nobler " 

"An  ordinary  man,"  said  Moorlake,  "who 
124 


Confession 

tries  not  to  be  a  blackguard.  It  isn't  always 
easy.  Don't  think  it's  easy." 

She  looked  at  his  pale,  stern  face. 

"  Oh,  I  love  you  for  it  !  "  she  cried. 
There  was  a  kind  of  radiance  in  her  regard. 
"  I'm  not  ashamed  ;  I'm  proud  that  I  love 
the  best  man  I've  ever  known." 

She  turned  away  from  him  and  walked 
toward  the  dim  end  of  the  room. 

He  stood  by  the  fire,  looking  blindly 
down  at  the  flames.  His  mind  was  in  a 
whirl. 

In  a  few  moments  Althea  returned  and 
stood  beside  him.  They  faced  each  other. 

"  So  this  is  the  end  ?  "  she  said,  quietly. 

"  Of  what  ?"  he  asked,  knowing  her  mean- 
ing, yet  wishing  to  gain  time. 

"  Of  our  friendship — our  love — what  you 
please  to  call  it,"  she  replied. 

"  I  know  no  other  course,"  he  said. 

She  did  not  know  what   the  answer  cost 

him. 

125 


The   Middle  Course 

"  We  shall  never  meet  again  ?  I  have 
spoiled  it  all— all  the  hope'I  had,"  she  said, 
wearily. 

"  For  a  time— for  a  time,"  he  murmured. 
*'  Let  us  not  meet  for  a  little  while." 

11  It  must  be  so,  if  you  say  it.  Will  you 
kiss  me  once,  Clement— for  good-bye  ? " 

His  breast  heaved.  He  was  less  calm 
than  she,  for  she  was  learning  what  despair 
means. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  ;  she  raised  her 
mouth  to  his. 

And  at  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and 
Oliver  North  stood  on  the  threshold. 


126 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A    TRAGEDY 

FOR  several  seconds  no  one  spoke. 

Althea  clung  to  Moorlake's  arm,  and 
after  the  first  involuntary  cringe  faced  her 
husband  boldly.  North's  face  was  white  in 
the  dim  light,  and  set  in  an  expression  of 
restrained  fury. 

"  So,"  he  said,  presently,  "  she  was  right. 
You  are  here  with  your  lover  !  " 

"  He  is  not  my  lover,"  said  Althea,  in  a 
weak  voice.  She  was  trembling,  but  she 
did  not  flinch. 

"  That  is  for  him  to  explain  to  me,"  said 
North,  with  a  black  scowl.  He  made  a  step 
nearer.  Althea  threw  herself  before  Moor- 
lake. 

"  Don't  touch  him  !     Don't   dare  !  "   she 
127 


The   Middle  Course 

cried.  "  He's  too  good  for  you  to  touch  !  " 
Then  she  turned  to  Clement.  "  Leave  me 
with  him  ;  he  shall  hear  the  truth  from  me." 

"  I  can't  leave  you,"  said  Moorlake.  "  Let 
me  speak  to  your  husband."  His  whole 
anxiety  seemed  for  her — not  for  anything 
that  might  happen  to  himself. 

"  I  implore  you  ! "  she  said,  and  pointed 
to  the  door. 

Moorlake  turned  to  North.  "  I  will  come 
back  when  you  want  me,"  he  said. 

North's  eyes  were  fixed  on  Althea. 

"  My  business  is  with  her.  Time  enough 
to  settle  with  you,"  he  answered.  He 
glanced  at  Clement  as  he  left  the  room,  then 
turned  on  his  wife  with  a  face  fearful  in  its 
bitter  anger. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  you  shameless  woman, 
what  have  you  to  say  ?  How  long  have  you 
been  deceiving  me  with  this  scoundrel  ?  " 

Althea,  though  blanched,  gathered  firm- 
ness every  moment. 

128 


A  Tragedy 

"  I  deceived  you  !  "  she  said.  "  I  have 
treated  you  like  a  gentleman  when  you  were 
insulting  me  writh  every  breath  !  I  have 
stayed  quietly  in  your  house  while  you 
made  my  home  a  hell  ;  but  from  this 
moment  I'll  deceive  you  no  longer — I  hate 
you  !  I  hate  you !  You  have  done  all  you 
could  to  drive  me  to  dishonor  ;  but  I  am  in- 
nocent. Clement  Moorlake  is  a  man  to  die 
for — but  he  doesn't  love  me.  Why  should 
he  ?  But  I'm  not  ashamed  of  loving  him — 
and  I  do— I  do !  Wouldn't  any  poor, 
crushed,  broken-hearted  woman  love  the 
best  man  she's  ever  known  ? "  She  paused 
a  moment,  panting. 

"  You  confess  to  me  that  you  love  him  ? " 
cried  North,  with  concentrated  rage,  "  and 
you  say  he  isn't  your  lover  ?  A  likely  story ! 
Does  an  innocent  woman  go  to  a  man's 
rooms  alone  and  kiss  him  ?  You  ask  me  to 
believe  that  ? " 

"I   asked   him  to  kiss  me— because  we 
9  129 


The   Middle  Course 

were  never  to  meet  again,"  said  Althea. 
"  Would  to  God  he  did  love  me — but  he 
doesn't." 

North  snarled  inarticulately  and  half- 
raised  his  arm. 

"  Strike  me,"  she  said,  "  and  make  me  free 
of  you  forever  !  But  I  tell  you,  if  you  hurt 
Clement  I'll  kill  you— kill  you  with  my 
naked  hands." 

"You  a  decent  woman?"  he  cried. 
"You're  low  and  vile  !  If  you're  not  his 
mistress  you  ought  to  be  !  Stay  here  till 
you  make  him  love  you  !  I  wouldn't  soil 
my  hands  with  either  of  you.  There  are 
other  ways  of  punishing  a  woman  like  you." 
He  seized  her  by  the  shoulders,  dashed  her 
to  the  floor  and  strode  from  the  room. 

Moorlake  was  in  the  inner  room.  He 
heard  the  fall,  and  hurried  to  Althea's  as- 
sistance. By  that  time  the  frenzied  North 
had  left  the  house,  banging  the  door  behind 

him. 

130 


A  Tragedy 

Althea's  head  had  struck  against  the  table, 
and  she  was  half-stunned. 
-  Moorlake  knelt  and  raised  her  head  till  it 
rested  on  his  arm.  There  were  signs  of  re- 
turning consciousness,  and  at  that  moment 
Mrs.  Moorlake  entered.  The  stately  old 
lady,  white-haired  and  with  eyes  like  Clem- 
ent's, stood  looking  at  her  son  and  Althea 
with  a  startled  gaze. 

"What  is  this,  Clement?  Who  is  it?" 
she  asked,  sternly. 

"  Mrs.  North  is  ill,  mother.  Will  you  ring 
for  your  maid,  please  ? "  said  Moorlake,  softly. 

Althea's  eyelids  fluttered,  and  she  feebly 
raised  her  hand  to  her  head. 

"  Oh !  "  she  murmured,  "  we  are  not 
alone.  Let  me  get  up." 

"  Are  you  able  ? "  asked  Clement.  "  Per- 
haps, mother,  you  would  better  not  ring. 
Mrs.  North  is  recovering." 

Althea  got  up  slowly,  swaying  slightly  as 
she  regained  her  feet. 


The   Middle  Course 

"I  must  go,"  she  said,  faintly.  All  her 
force  was  gone. 

"  Will  you  take  my  carriage  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Moorlake,  stiffly.  "  It  is  waiting  still." 

"Thank  you,  I  will  go  home.  Oh!" 
she  wailed,  suddenly,  "  I  have  no  home." 

Mrs.  Moorlake  looked  shocked  and  sur- 
prised. 

"You  are  ill,"  she  said.  "  Let  me  send 
my  maid  with  you." 

11  I  will  take  Mrs.  North,"  said  Moorlake, 
firmly.  He  placed  Althea's  cape  about  her 
shoulders.  "  I  will  take  you  to  Mrs.  Vin- 
cent's," he  said  to  her  in  a  low  tone  ;  "  but 
you  must  first  have  a  glass  of  wine."  He 
made  her  sit  down.  "  Perhaps  I'd  better 
fetch  the  wTine  myself.  You  will  stay  here, 
mother,"  he  said.  "  I  will  see  that  Mrs. 
North  reaches  home  safely." 

He  was  gone  only  a  minute  or  two.  Mrs. 
Moorlake  said  nothing  ;  she  saw  that  Althea 

was    dazed   and   unequal   to   conversation. 
132 


A  Tragedy 

Clement  returned  with  a  glass  of  port. 
Althea  drank  it  submissively,  and  revived  a 
little.  He  led  her  from  the  room  and  down 
the  stairs  like  a  child.  The  hall  was  empty, 
and  they  got  into  the  carriage  without  being 
seen  by  anyone  but  the  coachman. 

"  Lean  on  me,  dear,"  he  said,  gently,  and 
she  put  her  head  against  his  shoulder. 

Her  mind  was  torpid.  Everything  seemed 
wrapped  in  a  haze.  She  knew  that  she  was 
touching  Clement — that  he  was  supporting 
her,  as  a  father  might.  The  contact  gave 
her  no  thrill — only  a  dull  sense  that  she  was 
being  cared  for,  and  that  he  was  a  tower  of 
strength.  They  reached  Campden  Hill  in 
silence.  He  left  her  in  the  carriage  and 
went  in  to  prepare  Nellie  Vincent.  She  was 
just  going  upstairs  to  dress  for  dinner,  but 
greeted  him  with  her  usual  cordiality. 

"  Mrs.  North  is  in  the  carriage,"  he  said  ; 
"  she  needs  you  very  much.  There  has 

been  a  terrible  scene  with  North — she  has 
133 


The   Middle  Course 

had  a  blow,  and  can't  talk  much.  You'll  be 
good  to  her,  won't  you  ? "  He  said  this  hold- 
ing Nellie's  hand.  She  had  never  seen  him 
so  white  and  agitated. 

"  Clement  !  tell  me  more.  What  does 
this  mean  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Much  to  both  of  us,  I  fear,"  he  answered. 
"  She  will  tell  you  when  she  is  better  ;  but 
we  must  not  keep  her  waiting." 

Together  they  went  out  to  the  carriage 
and  brought  Althea  in. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  HUSBAND'S  FLIGHT 

ON  some  nervous  temperaments  a  sudden 
shock  produces  a  succeeding  torpor  of  body 
and  brain.  When  Althea  found  herself  in 
her  friend's  boudoir  her  one  desire  was 
to  sleep.  She  had  no  other  craving  left. 
Nothing  seemed  to  matter.  The  great  crisis 
of  her  life,  through  which  she  had  just 
passed,  had  little  significance  for  her.  She 
had  let  Moorlake  go  without  a  word  ;  she 
had  not  even  thanked  him. 

"  Let  me  sleep,  Nellie,"  she  said,  when 
Mrs.  Vincent  questioned  her.  "  Something 
awful  has  happened— Oliver — Clement — it's 
all  confused.  Don't  ask  me  till  to-morrow." 

Nellie  had  the  sense  to  see  that  she  must 

not   try  to   learn   anything  to-night.     She 
135 


The   Middle  Course 

herself  helped  Althea  to  undress,  induced 
her  to  drink  a  cup  of  tea,  and  got  her  into 
bed.  She  lighted  the  fire  already  laid,  then, 
returning  to  her  own  room,  rang  for  the 
housemaid  and  explained  that  Mrs.  North 
had  been  taken  ill  while  calling,  and  must 
not  be  disturbed. 

Nellie's  own  confidential  maid  had  fetched 
the  tea,  and  could  be  trusted  not  to  gossip 
in  the  servants'  hall. 

Nellie  had  barely  time  to  slip  on  a  tea 
gown  when  dinner  was  announced.  Ber- 
tram Vincent  was  waiting  for  her  when  she 
entered  the  drawing-room.  He  stood  be- 
fore the  fire,  whistling  blithely  to  himself. 

"  Bertie,"  said  Nellie,  coming  quickly  to- 
ward him,  "something  awful  has  happened," 
and  in  a  few  words  she  told  all  she  knew. 

Vincent  whistled  again,  this  time  with  a 
changed  note. 

"  Clement !  "  he  exclaimed.     "Well,  I'm 

blowed  ! " 

136 


The  Husband's  Flight 

"  Yes,  Clement !  of  all  people  !  "  said  Nel- 
lie. "Come;  we  must  behave  as  usual." 

"  After  all,  it's  our  servants  who  keep  us 
straight,"  said  Bertie,  with  a  sudden  smile. 
It  tickled  his  sense  of  humor  that  he  and 
his  wife  must  talk  commonplace,  and  eat 
clear  soup  while  poor,  ruined,  sick-hearted 
Althea  lay  in  a  half-stupor  upstairs — and 
meanwhile  the  demure  parlor-maid,  under 
her  spotless  cap  with  streamers,  held  the 
distinct  impression  of  the  bruise  she  had 
seen  on  Mrs.  North's  face. 

At  last  dessert  came,  and  the  maid  de- 
parted. Wild  with  impatience,  Nellie 
jumped  up. 

"  Parkins  is  on  guard,  Bertie  ;  she  won't 
let  the  others  in.  But  I'm  going  up.  Oh, 
poor  Althea  !  What  do  you  think  it  is  ? " 

"An  infernal  muddle,  no  doubt.  Why 
did  Althea  go  to  Clement's  alone?" 

"  Why,  many  people  do.     I  do." 

"  I  know,    but  that's  different.      We've 


The  Middle  Course 

known  Moorlake  twenty  years,  and  then,  / 
am  not  Oliver  North." 

"  No,  thank  God  !  " 

Bertie  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"Will  they  fight,  do  you  think?  "asked 
Nellie.  "  Do  men  have  duels  in  England  ? " 

11  More  likely,  if  there's  anything  in  it, 
North  will  shoot  'em  both  !  "  said  Bertie. 
"  Do  you  remember  that  unfortunate  dinner 
last  Summer,  when  they  met  ?  It  was  in 
this  very  room  that  Oliver  gave  vent  to  his 
opinion  on  faithless  wives.  He  won't  give 
much  quarter,  I  expect." 

Nellie  was  half-crying. 

"  Whatever  she's  done  it's  his  fault — the 
brute  !  "  she  said,  vehemently. 

"  But  Moorlake,  of  all  men  !  "  said  Vin- 
cent, wonderingly,  as  his  wife  left  him. 

The  night  seemed  short  to  Althea.  Her 
sleep  was  deep  and  dreamless.  When  she 
woke  the  dim  Winter  light  barely  made  the 

room  visible.     She  looked  idly  at  the  bed 
138 


The  Husband's  Flight 

curtains,  noted  the  pattern,  and  realized  that 
they  were  not  her  own.  By  the  time  she  sat 
up  and  looked  at  the  other  objects  in  the 
room,  Nellie,  who  had  slept  on  the  sofa  all 
night,  entered  fresh  from  her  bath  and  morn- 
ing coffee. 

"  Well,  dearest,"  she  said,  trying  to  keep 
her  voice  steady,  "  you've  had  a  splendid 
sleep  !  You  must  be  hungry.  You  shall 
have  breakfast  at  once.  How  do  you  feel, 
love  ? " 

"  My  head  aches  a  little,"  said  Althea. 
"  I  think  I  am  rather  hungry."  Then,  with 
sudden  excitement,  "  Nellie,  why  am  I 
here  ? " 

"  You  were  ill,  dear — and  Clement — that 
is— I — you  were  so  tired — "  Nellie  came  to 
a  standstill. 

A  wave  of  recollection  broke  over 
Althea. 

"  Oh,  Nellie  !  Nellie  !  I  remember  ! 
Clement !  is  he  safe  ?  Where  is  he  ?  Where 


The  Middle  Course 

is  Oliver  ?"  She  clasped  her  hands  tightly 
and  fixed  imploring  eyes  on  her  friend. 

"  Safe  ?  Of  course.  Why  not  ?  "  said 
Nellie.  "  He's  big  enough  to  take  care  of 
himself,  isn't  he,  dear  ?" 

The  tragedy  in  Althea's  face  frightened 
her  into  an  attempt  at  playfulness. 

"You  don't  know,"  said  Althea.  "  I  was 
stupid  last  night — I  hurt  my  face — or  head — 
when  Oliver  threw  me  down." 

She  began  to  cry  weakly. 

11  My  .tear,"  implored  Nellie,  her  own  eyes 
wet,  "  you  mustn't  !  Lie  down.  Be  good, 
love.  Let  me  bring  you  some  breakfast. 
Sarah  will  make  a  fire,  and  your  own  Nellie, 
who  Icves  you,  will  take  care  of  you.  Don't, 
don't,  that's  a  love  !  " 

The  childless  woman  crooned  over  her 
like  a  mother  with  a  baby. 

She  was  quieted  for  the  time. 

The  blazing  coals  were  comforting  and 

cheering,  and  made  one  forget  the  yellow 
140 


The  Husband's  Flight 

day  outside.  Nature  asserted  herself,  and 
Althea  was  really  glad  to  eat  and  drink.  Life 
looks  so  different  after  breakfast  !  She  was 
then  able  to  tell  Mrs.  Vincent  all.  When 
the  story  \vas  ended,  Nellie  sat  beside  the 
bed,  silent. 

"  Do  you  hate  me,  Nell,  for  being  so 
wicked  ? "  asked  Althea,  timidly. 

"  I  hate  Oliver  !  "  said  Nellie.  "  No  one 
else.  But  I  think  Moorlake  should  not 
have  let  it  come  to  this." 

"  Oh,  it  wasn't  his  fault !  He  is  the 
best— the " 

"  I  know— I  know.  They  always  are  !  I've 
known  Moorlake  twenty  years,  and  I  thought 
him  the  only  sensible  attractive  man  of  my 
acquaintance— it's  easy  for  the  other  kind  to 
be  sensible.  I'm  disappointed  in  him." 

Althea  shook  her  head  on  the  pillow. 

"You've  known  him  twenty  years,  but 
you  don't  know  him  as  I  do,"  she  said. 

"  Possibly   not   in  just    that   way,"  said 
141 


The  Middle  Course 

Nellie,  dryly.  Then,  presently :  "  Althea, 
does  he  love  you  ? " 

Althea  winced  piteously. 

"  Not  as  I  do  him,"  she  said. 

"  There  was  that  other  woman—"  began 
Nellie. 

Althea  raised  her  hand. 

"  Don't  tell  me ! "  she  cried.  "  If  he  wants 
me  to  know  he'll  tell  me  himself !  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  for  I  don't  know  any- 
thing. Clement's  as  close  as  wax.  I  only 
know  that  it  is  generally  understood  that  he 
has  loved  one  woman  all  his  life.  She  may 
be  dead— I  don't  know." 

There  was  a  short  silence.  The  firelight 
flickered  cosily  on  the  rose-pink  walls  and 
the  flowery  hangings.  Both  women  were 
deep  in  thought. 

"  Nellie,"  said  Althea,  presently,  "  will 
Oliver  try  to  kill  me— or  Clement  ?" 

"  I  sha'n't  let  him   kill  you,  dear  ! "  said 

Nellie.     "Moorlake  must  defend  himself." 
142 


The  Husband's  Flight 

"  It  would  be  awful  to  die  so — "  Althea 
shuddered  a  little — "  and  for  such  a  little 
sin  !  " 

"  It  would  be  a  large  price  to  pay  for  one 
kiss,"  said  Nellie,  cynically.  "Well,  well, 
we  must  think  what's  to  be  done.  Bertie 
had  better  go  to  your  house.  He  can  man- 
age Oliver." 

"  Oh,  Nellie,  my  child  !  my  poor  baby ! 
How  wicked  I  am  !  Isn't  it  terrible  that 
I've  loved  him  so  much  that  I've  almost  for- 
gotten Violet  !  Oh,  Nellie  !  "  and  she  began 
to  cry  afresh. 

When  she  was  once  more  soothed  Mrs. 
Vincent  left  her  and  went  to  confer  with 
Bertie. 

"You  must  go  at  once  to  the  Norths' !" 
she  said.  "  You'll  be  able  to  find  out  what 
sort  of  mood  Oliver  is  in,  and  see  how 
Violet  is,  too.  Althea  is  fretting  about 
her." 

Bertie  made  a  small  grimace. 


The  Middle  Course 

"  Pleasant  mission  for  a  fellow  who  hates 
scenes  ! "  he  said  ;  but  he  went. 

When  Nellie  returned  to  her  friend  she 
found  her  with  a  new  idea. 

"  Something  has  flashed  across  me  !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  When  Oliver  came  in  yester- 
day he  said  :  '  She  was  right  !  You  are 
with  your  lover  ! '  Now,  '  she  '  must  be 
Clarice  Hilyer.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I 
met  her  in  the  hall." 

Nellie  Vincent  threw  up  her  hands. 

11  Good  Lord  !  Then  you  are  lost  !  "  she 
cried.  "  That  woman  will  hound  you  to  de- 
struction. Why,  she's  been  after  Moorlake 
for  years.  Oh,  Althea,  you  silly  baby,  why 
did  you  go  there  ? " 

"  Because  I  was  mad,"  said  Mrs.  North, 
gloomily. 

When  Bertram  Vincent  arrived  in  Pont 
street  he  was  met  by  a  solemn-faced  maid 

at  the  door. 

144 


The  Husband's  Flight 

"  Is  Mr.  North  at  home,  Alice  ? "  he  asked. 
He  knew  her  well. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Miss  Violet,  then?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  where  Mrs.  North  is  ; 
I  thought  you  might  be  worried  about  her. 
She  was  taken  faint  yesterday  while  driving 
on  Campden  Hill — came  to  us,  and  Mrs. 
Vincent  is  taking  good  care  of  her." 

Alice's  calm  broke  up. 

"  Come  in,  sir,  please,"  she  said,  with  a 
sob.  "  There's  no  good  in  keepin'  the 
truth  from  you,  sir,  you  as  knows  us  all 
so  well,  sir.  Mr.  North's  gone — that's  the 
truth  ;  went  off  last  night,  ragin'-like,  and — 

and  he's  taken  Miss  Violet." 

i 

"Taken  Miss  Violet  !  "  cried  Vincent, 
aghast.  "Where  to,  in  heaven's  name  ?" 

"  That's  what  we  don't  know,  sir.  And 
he's  gone  without  nurse,  and  the  poor  wo- 
man is  near  crazy.  He  come  in  about  six 
10  145 


The  Middle  Course 

o'clock  yesterday  like  a  wild  man.  '  Send 
cook  to  me,'  says  he,  and  tell  nurse  to  get 
Miss  Violet  ready  to  travel — to  pack  her 
clothes  as  fast  as  she  can.'  '  For  'ow  long, 
sir  ?'  I  says,  very  respectful — for  he  was 
glarin*.  '  A  year,'  says  he — '  two  years  ! 
Pack  all  her  things,  and  be  quick  ! '  Cook 
come  up  all  in  a  tremble.  She  told  me  he 
said  to  mind  everything  while  he  was  away, 
till  she  heard  from  him,  and  he  gave  her  a 
cheque  for  forty  pounds  for  expenses,  which 
looks  bad,  master  being  so  close-fisted  in 
general.  '  And  will  the  mistress  be  back, 
sir  ? '  asks  cook.  '  Never  !  '  says  master, 
in  an  awful  voice.  '  She's  dead,'  says  he. 
1  Oh,  poor,  dear  lady  ! '  cries  cook.  We  all 
loves  Mrs.  North,  y'  know,  sir.  '  How  did 
she  die  ? '  says  cook.  '  She  killed  herself— 
and  me,'  he  says,  wild-like.  Well,  you 
know,  sir,  that  couldn't  be  true,  because  Mr. 
North  wasn't  a  bit  dead  himself,  only  storm- 
in'  around  cruel.  So  we  plucked  up  spirit, 
146 


The  Husband's  Flight 

sir,    and— and — here   we  are,"   she  ended, 
lamely. 

These  were  the  tidings  that  Vincent  had 
to  carry  back  to  Campden  Hill. 


CHAPTER   X 

A   LOVER'S   DILEMMA 

THE  next  day  Moorlake  called  at  the  Vin- 
cents' to  inquire  for  Althea.  Nellie  came 
to  ask  if  she  would  like  to  see  him. 

Althea  was  sitting  huddled  up  in  a  great 
chair  before  the  morning-room  fire.  She 
had  scarcely  stirred  or  spoken  all  day.  At 
the  mention  of  Clement's  name  a  wave  of 
color  swept  over  her  face. 

"  No,  no  !     I  can't  see  him !  "  she  said. 

"You  will  have  to  see  him  sooner  or  later," 
said  Nellie.  "  He  will  come  again  and  again 
until  you  do.  Why  not  now  ?  " 

"  I  can't,"  said  Althea,  and  that  was  all 
she  would  say.  As  soon,  however,  as 

Nellie  left  the  room  she  was  in  a  fever.    Oh, 
149 


The  Middle  Course 

to  see  him— just  a  glimpse  !  Oh,  to  hear 
him— one  tone  of  his  voice  ! 

The  apathy  of  the  past  few  hours  changed 
to  a  consuming  hunger  for  his  presence. 
Yet,  she  thought,  of  what  use  was  his  com- 
ing ?  If  he  had  not  loved  her  before  he 
would  despise  her  now — when  she  had  led 
him  into  a  position  so  hateful  to  a  man  of 
honor.  He  had  never  loved  her — she  knew 
that ;  only  felt  a  great  pity,  a  great  kindness, 
a  great  regret  that  so  much  love  should 
have  been  given  unsought,  undesired.  Some 
men  would  have  played  with  the  passion  ; 
would  have  extracted  thrills  and  sensations 
from  it,  while  their  souls  held  aloof.  She 
thanked  God  that  Moorlake  was  better  than 
that,  and  she  realized,  amid  the  pangs  of 
a  most  human  craving,  that  it  was  better 
to  preserve  one's  ideal  than  to  have  a  surfeit 
of  mock  love. 

The  knowledge  that   he  was  so  near,  yet 

invisible,  inaudible  to  her,  made  her  long  to 
150 


A  Lover's  Dilemma 

go  to  him.  But  the  awe  in  which  she  held 
him— now  more  than  ever— kept  her  where 
she  was,  and  would  not  let  her  go. 

In  a  little  while,  though  the  time  seemed 
long,  Nellie  Vincent  returned  to  the  morn- 
ing-room. She  sat  down  by  Althea,  seeing 
the  eager  question  of  her  eyes. 

"He  is  very  sad,  very  troubled,  Althea," 
she  said.  "  He  did  not  say  much— only 
asked  about  you,  whether  you  had  any 
plans,  and  how  you  were." 

"  Did  you  say  anything  about  Violet  ? " 
asked  Althea,  in  a  weak  voice. 

"  Bertie  told  him.  He  was  awfully 
shocked." 

"  Did  he  speak  of  seeing  me  ?  " 

"  He  only  said,  '  If  I  can  be  of  any  use, 
let  me  know.' ' 

11  And  how  did  he  look  ?  " 

11  Pale— and  older." 

"  Oh,  Clement  !  Clement  !"  Althea  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  hands.  "  I  who 


The  Middle  Course 

would  die  for  him  have  brought  him  only 
trouble." 

Nellie  did  not  answer  ;  she  only  held  her 
friend's  hand  and  patted  it. 

Her  mind  was  fixed  on  the  near  future, 
and  the  prospect  was  a  disquieting  one. 
How  was  Althea  to  regain  her  child  ?  How 
was  a  scandal  to  be  averted  ?  Sooner  or 
later  something  must  transpire.  It  was 
likely  that  Clarice  Hilyer  would  be  glad  to 
injure  the  woman  of  whom  she  had  suddenly 
become  jealous.  Besides  all  this,  Althea's 
financial  position  was  insecure.  She  had 
now  but  a  trifle  to  live  on,  as  evidently  part 
of  Oliver's  scheme  of  revenge  was  to  leave 
her  without  means  of  support. 

"  It  would  have  been  kinder  to  shoot  her," 
said  Nellie  to  Bertie  next  day. 

"I  can't  see  what  she's  to  do,"  admitted 
Bertie.  "  I  saw  Ballard,  the  American  law- 
yer, this  morning.  He  tells  me  that  Althea 

can't   get  the  child   unless   she  could   get 
152 


A  Lover's   Dilemma 

someone  to  steal  it,  and  we  don't  even 
know  where  it  is.  Who  knows  what  North 
is  doing  ?  He  may  be  getting  a  divorce— or 
rather,  he  may  do  so  when  he  arrives,  for  I 
suppose  he  is  gone  to  America." 

"  How  can  he  do  that  ?  He  has  no 
grounds,"  said  Nellie. 

"  You  don't  know  American  law,  my  dear," 
answered  Vincent.  "  Ballard  tells  me  that 
a  man  can  go  to  Dakota,  live  there  ninety 
days,  start  divorce  proceedings  of  which  his 
wife  is  perfectly  ignorant ;  the  case  'goes  by 
default,'  as  they  call  it,  and  the  wife  has  papers 
served  on  her  simply  informing  her  that  she's 
divorced.  That  may  happen  to  Althea." 

"  Heavens,  what  a  wicked  law  !  "  cried 
Nellie.  "And  could  Clement  marry  her?" 

"  That  I  am  not  quite  certain  of.  Ballard 
left  me  before  we  got  to  that.  Do  you  think 
Clement  wants  to  marry  her  ? " 

Nellie  was  silent  for  a  moment.    Then  she 

said  :   "  I  think  he  would  feel  it  his  duty." 
153 


The  Middle  Course 

11  Althea  wouldn't  take  him  on  those  terms. 
She's  too  proud,"  said  Bertie. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Nellie,  "when  a  woman 
worships  a  man  as  Althea  worships  Moor- 
lake,  she  takes  him  on  any  terms— especially 
if  they're  respectable  ones." 

"Well,"  said  Bertie,  "we  shall  see.  .  .  ." 

No  one  besides  the  Vincents  and  Moorlake 
could  account  for  North's  sudden  absence — 
except  Clarice  Hilyer,  who  had  made  the 
mischief.  She  needed  all  her  coolness  when 
she  thought  of  meeting  Moorlake  as  she 
might  do  any  day.  She  found  herself  afraid 
to  pass  his  door  ;  every  day  she  stood  on 
her  doorstep  before  going  out,  nervously 
looking  up  and  down  Cheyne  Walk,  dread- 
ing to  see  his  tall  figure.  She  knew  that  to 
inflict  further  injury  on  Althea  North  would 
be  to  lose  Clement  even  as  an  acquaintance, 
and  she  preserved  an  unbroken  silence. 
She  never  did  harm  to  any  woman  unless 
that  woman  stood  in  her  way  ;  and  even 


A  Lover's  Dilemma 

then  her  hatred  was  impersonal  and  calm, 
scarcely  deserving  the  name  of  a  passion. 

Mrs.  Moorlake  understood  her  son's  tem- 
per and  character  too  well  to  question  him 
in  regard  to  the  scene  in  the  studio.  Clem- 
ent was  a  man  who  scrupulously  guarded 
his  individual  rights  of  thought  and  action. 
His  mother's  unyielding  dignity  had  been  re- 
produced in  him.  He  gave  no  one  the  right 
to  question  him,  and  she  had  always  re- 
spected his  reticence.  In  so  doing  she  made 
it  possible  for  them  to  live  together  in  har- 
mony. Mrs.  Moorlake  had  never  before 
entered  his  studio  without  an  invitation,  and 
she  blamed  herself  for  having  done  so  on  this 
occasion. 

As  for  Clement,  he  found  the  work  of 
years  undone  in  an  instant.  He  had  stren- 
uously— perhaps  priggishly — protected  him- 
self against  the  charm  of  women,  only  to  find 
himself  in  the  odious  position  of  a  man  accused 

of  a  sin  he  has  not  committed — branded  as  a 
155 


The  Middle  Course 

seducer,  while  he  has  almost  attained  to  the 
renunciation  of  a  saint.  The  temptation 
had  been  a  fiery  one,  and  he  had  come 
through  it  morally  unscathed  ;  yet  here  he 
was,  responsible  for  a  woman's  ruin.  What 
though  that  ruin  was  imaginary  ?  It  was 
real  enough  in  the  sense  that  her  husband 
believed  in  it,  and  had  left  her  in  jealous  fury. 
She  was  now  dependent  on  three  persons — 
the  Vincents  and  himself — and  of  these  three 
he  was  the  only  one  who  was  morally  respon- 
sible. His  one  poor,  abortive,  brotherly  kiss 
had  ended  worse  than  the  fiercest  embrace. 
He  would  have  found  something  ludicrous 
in  the  case  had  he  not  been  the  hero  of  it.  His 
quickened  fancy  pictured  the  cheerless 
drama  that  might  follow.  He  saw  him- 
self, for  the  rest  of  his  life,  charged  with 
the  fate  of  Althea  North.  She  was  pretty, 
she  was  charming  ;  she  loved  him,  but — yes, 
that  was  it — she  loved  him  too  much.  It  was 

an    entire  reversal  of  the  proper  order  of 
156 


A  Lover's  Dilemma 

things.  His  fine  taste  was  offended  by  it. 
Now  that  he  was  away  from  Althea  he  felt 
astonishingly  cold.  There  was  none  of  the 
warmth  that  her  sweetness  and  pretty,  plead- 
ing ways  evoked  in  him  when  they  were  to- 
gether. He  had  been  inexpressibly  relieved 
when  she  refused  to  see  him.  He  com- 
mended her  discretion — a  quality  not  always 
displayed  by  women  who  are  madly  in  love. 
Yet  he  knew  that  the  meeting  must  comer 
and  the  thought  of  it  sat  on  him  like  a  night- 
mare. One  side  of  his  nature  hated  the 
other.  He  wanted  to  love  Althea.  Tepid 
affection  wasn't  enough  ;  pity,  and  the  kind- 
ness which  every  chivalrous  man  feels  toward 
a  nice  woman,  were  not  enough.  He  longed 
to  rouse  some  emotion,  some  enthusiasm,  in 
himself.  His  nature  was  like  his  face,  where 
the  cold,  pure  Grecian  outlines  were  contra- 
dicted by  the  fire  of  the  eyes  ;  and  at  present 
the  coldness  had  it  all  its  own  way. 

Meanwhile,  Althea  stayed    on    with  the 


The  Middle  Course 

Vincents.  She  went  to  Pont  street  one  day 
to  get  her  clothes  and  various  belongings 
that  she  needed.  The  servants  looked  at  her 
in  an  awestruck  way,  but  they  seemed  full  of 
affection  for  her  and  of  stifled  indignation 
toward  Oliver.  North's  solicitor,  Alice,  the 
parlor-maid,  said,  had  called  two  days  before 
and  had  put  the  household  on  a  different  foot- 
ing. All  the  maids  but  Alice  and  the  cook 
had  been  paid  a  month's  wages  and  sent 
away.  The  other  two  were  ordered  to  re- 
main on  board  wages  until  further  instruc- 
tions should  be  received.  The  drawing- 
room  was  dismantled,  and  its  sheeted  forms 
gave  Althea  a  shock.  The  house  was  full  of 
memories — most  of  them  miserable  ones. 
Violet's  bedroom  was  more  than  she  could 
bear.  It  brought  back  the  hours  that  mother 
and  child  had  spent  together— the  hours  al- 
ways the  most  satisfactory  in  a  mother's  life. 
Althea  had  thought  then  that  she  knew  what 

maternal  love  was,  but  the  throbbing  wave  of 
158 


A  Lover's  Dilemma 

affection  that  swelled  over  her  now  as  she 
looked  at  the  vacant  crib  made  her  past  feel- 
ings seem  lukewarm  and  feeble  by  compari- 
son. 

She  kept  down  her  sobs  while  she  se- 
lected such  garments  as  she  needed  and  su- 
perintended the  packing  of  them.  One  of 
the  dresses  was  the  pale  mauve  satin  she  had 
worn  on  the  occasion  of  her  first  meeting 
with  Moorlake — the  meeting  that  was  des- 
tined to  alter  her  life.  She  scarcely  knew 
whether  she  loved  or  hated  it.  She  remem- 
bered how  she  had  never  had  enough  clothes. 
She  had  gone  to  America  the  wife  of  a  com- 
paratively rich  man,  and  had  felt  herself 
shabby  and  ashamed  before  her  old  friends. 
Each  garment  had  some  painful  association  ; 
her  life  with  Oliver  had  had  little  hippiness. 

She  got  away  from  the  house  of  ghosts  as 
soon  as  she  could  and  drove  back  to  Camp- 
den  Hill.  All  the  way  she  was  occupied 
with  wondering  how  she  was  to  live — 


The  Middle  Course 

whether  she  could  not  force  Oliver  to  make 
some  provision  for  her.  The  Vincents  loved 
her,  and  she  was  devoted  to  them,  but  she 
could  not  live  her  whole  life  with  them.  She 
felt  a  consuming  desire  to  get  away  from 
London,  to  know  that  there  was  no  chance 
of  seeing  Clement — the  one  person  whom 
she  longed  for — and  dreaded.  When  she 
reached  the  Vincents'  she  went  at  once  into 
the  morning-room.  The  afternoon  was 
gray  and  cheerless,  darkening  into  evening. 
Even  the  glowing  fire  and  the  flowers,  of 
which  the  vases  were  full,  could  not  make 
the  room  bright.  She  stood  looking  about 
for  Nellie,  and  saw  Clement  Moorlake  stand- 
ing by  the  window.  The  shock  stopped  her 
heart,  then  sent  it  bounding.  Moorlake 
looked  so  tall  and  pale  and  grave  that  he 
somehow  overpowered  her.  She  did  not 
even  stretch  out  her  hand  to  him  ;  she  stood 
looking  at  him  with  wide  eyes.  It  was  Clem- 
ent that  spoke. 

160 


A  Lover's  Dilemma 

"  I  was  waiting  for  Mrs.  Vincent,"  he  said, 
*'  But  I  am  glad  to  have  this  opportunity  of 
seeing  you." 

He  realized  that  he  was  priggish  and  stilted 
— that  he  had  said  the  wrong  thing. 

"  I  will  tell  Nellie,"  said  Althea,  mechani- 
cally, and  moved  toward  the  door. 

Moorlake  came  a  step  nearer. 

"  No,  no — don't,  please.  I  want  to  see 
you." 

Althea  returned  to  the  fire,  and  stood 
taking  off  her  gloves.  She  could  not  keep 
her  hands  still. 

"  I  cannot  blame  you,"  she  said,  "  if  you 
want  never  to  see  me  again." 

That  was  also  the  wrong  thing  to  say,  she 
thought.  She  should  have  kept  the  appeal- 
ing tone  out  of  her  voice. 

"That  is  impossible  !  "  said  Clement.  He 
was  fighting  down  his  distaste  for  the  situa- 
tion— trying  to  warm  over  his  sympathy,  that 

had  grown  cold.     "  I  want  so  much  to  tell 
11  161 


The   Middle  Course 

you — "  He  paused.  What  did  he  want  to 
tell  her  ?  He  was  distinctly  conscious  that 
he  wished  to  tell  her  nothing.  Meanwhile 
she  stood  opposite  him,  with  white,  pathetic 
face.  She  had  put  down  her  gloves,  and  now 
drew  the  pins  from  her  hat,  and  laid  that 
aside.  Then  she  smoothed  the  heavy  masses, 
of  chestnut  hair  that  had  fallen  over  her 
ears. 

Why  couldn't  he  love  her  ?  Why  couldn't 
he  take  her  into  his  arms  and  comfort  her  ? 
It  seemed  to  him  nobler  now  to  pretend  than 
to  freeze  the  poor  creature  by  an  exhibition 
of  the  truth.  Yet  something  held  him 
back. 

Althea  found  words  before  he  could  go 
on. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Moorlake,"  she 
said,  "  what  an  agony  of  remorse  I've 
suffered  for  having  brought  you  to  this.  I 
understand  your  position  ;  don't  think  I 

imagine — anything  that  is  not  so.    You  must 
162 


A  Lover's  Dilemma 

not  trouble  about  me.-  I  have  good  friends 
who  will  do  all  they  can  for  me." 

In  that  moment  he  admired  her.  Some 
of  the  ice  melted. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  North,"  he  said,  leaning  toward 
her.  "  I  want  you  to  feel  that  I  am  your 
friend,  though  I  have  so  far  brought  onlyun- 
happiness  into  your  life.  I  have  no  words 
to  express  how  I  regret  this.  If  I  can  help 
you  in  any  way — "  he  paused,  again  at  a  loss. 

Neither  was  sorry  that  Nellie  Vincent  at 
that  moment  opened  the  door  and  ended  the 
abortive  interview.  When  she  saw  Althea 
she  started  back,  then  hastily  decided  to 
behave  naturally. 

"  I've  kept  you  waiting,  Clement,"  she 
said,  "but  I  was  helping  Bertie  in  the 
studio." 

Althea  took  up  her  hat  and  gloves.  "  Good- 
bye," she  said,  turning  to  Moorlake,  then 
quietly  left  the  room.  -j 

Nellie  looked  after  her,  then  at  Moorlake. 
163 


The   Middle  Course 

"  Can  you  say  nothing — do  nothing  ?  " 
she  demanded.  "  That  poor  thing  will  go 
mad." 

Moorlake's  face  became  set  and  haughty, 
and  his  thin  nostrils  quivered. 

"  You  needn't  look  like  that,  Clement," 
said  Nellie.  "  I've  known  you  twenty  years, 
and  I'm  one  of  the  women  you  can't  intimi- 
date. I'm  as  sorry  for  you  as  I  can  be,  but 
Althea  didn't  get  into  this  miserable  mess  all 
alone,  and  she's  got  to  be  helped.  I'm  al- 
ways on  the  side  of  the  women,  you  know. 
We're  handicapped  from  the  cradle  to  the 
grave." 

Moorlake  almost  smiled  at  this  outburst. 
He  was  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Vincent. 

"  My  dear  Nellie,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  know 
how  I  looked  at  you— I  only  know  how  I  feel, 
and  nobody  need-envy  me." 

"  Let  me  know  how  you  feel,  please,"  said 
Nellie.  "  You  see,  we're  all  accustomed  to 

look  on  you  as  something  holy  and  remote 
164 


A  Lover's  Dilemma 

— something  on  a  marble  pedestal.  We've 
always  expected  you  to  do  the  right  thing, 
and  you've  always  done  it,  so  far  as  we  know. 
Now,  all  of  a  sudden,  you've  stepped  down, 
and  I  naturally  feel  anxious  to  hear  what 
you  think  about  it.  I  can't  think  it's  no 
business  of  mine.  I  love  Althea  North — she 
is  my  best  friend— and  at  present  I  see 
ruin  ahead  of  her — ruin  without  any  com- 
pensation, apparently — that  is,  if  you  don't 
love  her." 

Moorlake  was  making  a  heroic  effort  to 
conquer  his  repugnance  to  personal  conver- 
sation. It  was  indeed  difficult  to  preserve 
the  haughty  pose  with  Nellie,  the  friend 
of  his  boyhood.  Their  relations  had  always 
been  those  cordial,  unemotional  ones  that 
alone  endure  between  women  and  men. 

When  he  answered  her  his  face  wore  an 
expression  of  unaffected  kindness. 

"  I    feel     Mrs.    North's     position     most 

keenly,"  he  said.     "  It  seems  disloyal  to  be 
165 


The  Middle  Course 

discussing  her  behind  her  back.  I'm  sure, 
if  she  ever  felt  any  admiration  for  me  she 
must  have  lost  it  by  now.  I  was  a  brute  to 
her  just  now  !  " 

11 1  was  afraid  of  it ! "  cried  Nellie.  "  Her 
poor  face  made  me  shiver,  it  was  so  wan  and 
white !  Do  you  know  what  you  ought  to 
have  done  ?  You  should  have  simply  taken 
her  into  your  arms  and  told  her  you  love 
her.  I  don't  care  whether  you  do  or  not. 
A  lie  like  that  will  save  a  woman's  reason 
sometimes.  I'm  not  speaking  in  the  interest 
of  morality  now.  My  heart  simply  bleeds 
for  that  girl.  I've  never  entangled  myself 
with  any  man — but  then,  mind  you,  /  was 
never  married  to  Oliver  North  !  " 

Moorlake  regarded  her  with  deep  interest. 

"  You're  a  good  woman,  Nellie,"  he  said, 
"  and  I'm  a  cold  brute." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  the  cold  brutes  are  worse 
than  the  other  kind  when  it  comes  to  this. 

Here  is  this  woman  torturing  herself,  think- 
166 


A  Lover's  Dilemma 

ing  she  has  lost  your  respect,  as  well  as  every- 
thing else,  and  you  come  and  patronize  her 
in  a  polite  morning  call  .  .  .  Oh,  it's  too- 
much  ;  I'm  ashamed  of  you  !  " 

Moorlake  took  his  castigation  meekly. 

"  Last  time  you  met,"  Nellie  went  on, 
"  she  was  in  your  arms.  This  time  I  dare 
say  you  didn't  even  shake  hands  with  her. 
Oh,  you  men  !  I  know  your  Spanish  hidalgo 
airs — without  any  Spanish  warmth  behind 
them  !  I'm  glad  enough  /  was  never  in  love 
with  you  !  " 

"  Don't  spare  me,"  said  Moorlake,  a  faint 
flicker  of  amusement  crossing  his  face, 
"  You  do  me  good.  But  come,  now,  granted 
that  I'm  a  brute,  a  statue,  a  Spanish  hidalgo 
— all  these  conflicting  epithets — what  do 
you  think  I  ought  to  do  ?  Let  us  be  prac- 
tical." 

"  I  think,"  said  Nellie,  "  that  you  ought  to 
bolster  up  her  self-respect.  Don't  keep  on 

telling    her  you   don't  love    her — that  you 

167 


The   Middle  Course 

kissed  her  because  you  were  sorry  for  her. 
I'm  sure  you  did  tell  her  that— you  look  so 
guilty." 

Moorlake  smiled. 

"  I  don't  feel  like  laughing,"  he  said,  "  but 
you  are  really  very  funny." 

"  I  am  seriously  anxious  about  Althea's 
health.  She  is  ill  now— all  the  result  of  a 
few  days'  misery.  How  is  she  to  live  if  she 
thinks  you  don't  care  for  her  ?  You  must 
love  her  a  little— now,  don't  you  ?  Come, 
do  tell  me  !  Keep  your  offish  ways  for 
people  who  haven't  known  you  for  twenty 
years.  I've  never,  in  all  that  time,  asked  you 
an  indiscreet  question.  Do  answer  just  this 
one  !  " 

"  Nellie,  there's  no  resisting  you,"  said 
Moorlake.  His  hazel  eyes  looked  very  hu- 
man—at last.  "  I  hate  talking  about  my  feel- 
ings—I  always  have  hated  it  ;  but  you  have 
a  sort  of  right  to  know  them  now.  I  do— 

and  I  do  not— love  Althea.     She  attracts  me, 
1 68 


A  Lover's  Dilemma 

of  course  ;  I'm  not  the  statue  you  think  me  ; 
I  care  for  her,  in  a  way  ;  I  have  great  respect 
for  her,  for  she  is  pure  and  good,  and  I  pity 
her  immensely  because  she  is  unfortunate 
and  unhappy.  But  what  /  call  love— the 
thing  that  means  me— every  part  of  me,, 
physical,  mental,  spiritual — I  can't  offer 
her.  I've  offered  it  to  nobody  for  fifteen 
years." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Presently  Nellie 
Vincent  said,  gravely  : 

"  Thank  you,  Clement.  I  understand. 
It  sounds  like  Althea's  death-knell.  There 
is  one  thing  more  I  must  ask  you.  Has  it 
ever  occurred  to  you  that  Oliver  North  may 
be  gone  to  get  a  divorce  ? " 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Clement,  calmly. 
"  He  couldn't  possibly  get  one." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  Bertie  tells  me  that 
in  Dakota  you  can  get  a  divorce  for  anything 
or  nothing;  and  in  that  case " 

Clement  flushed  deeply. 
169 


The   Middle  Course 

""  Yes,"  he  said,  "in  that  case ?" 

"  Althea  would  be  free,"  said  Nellie,  very 
low,  with  averted  eyes. 

There  was  an  electric  silence. 

Mrs.  Vincent  dreaded  the  first  word  ;  she 
feared  that  she  had  gone  too  far.  Clement 
rose  before  he  spoke. 

"  It  is  useless  to  speculate  about  all  this," 
he  said.  "  When  the  contingencies  arise 
they  must  be  faced.  Until  then — "  He 
hesitated,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"  We're  friends  still,  aren't  we,  Clement  ?" 
asked  Nellie,  looking  up  at  him. 

"  Friends  always,  Nellie,"  he  answered. 
*'  Good-bye." 


170 


CHAPTER  XI 


AFTER  her  encounter  with  Moorlake 
Althea  broke  down  entirely.  She  went  to 
bed  early  that  evening,  and  did  not  get  up 
for  two  weeks.  There  was  no  disease  ;  she 
simply  lay  there,  growing  thinner,  weaker, 
more  lethargic.  It  didn't  seem  worthwhile 
to  get  up  and  dress.  She  would  have  for- 
gotten to  eat  if  Nellie  had  not  insisted  on  her 
taking  food.  Moorlake  was  kept  informed 
of  her  condition,  but  there  was  no  commu- 
nication between  them.  He  was  never  out 
of  Althea's  mind,  waking  or  sleeping,  yet 
sucii  was  her  languor  that  she  felt  no  desire 
to  see  him  again.  He  had  become  a  beauti- 
ful abstraction.  The  Vincents  were  seriously 

alarmed.     For  the  first  fortnight  they  hesi- 
171 


The  Middle  Course 

tated  to  consult  a  physician,  but  at  last,  when 
they  realized  that  Althea  was  fading  away, 
they  sent  for  their  own  doctor. 

Jim  Burton — all  his  friends  called  him  Jim 
— was  only  forty  years  old.  He  was  a  man 
of  almost  colossal  size,  with  the  skin  of  an 
infant  and  the  smile  of  a  cherub.  Before  he 
had  talked  five  minutes  to  a  patient  the 
sufferer  felt  on  the  high-road  to  recovery,  and 
his  charming  buoyancy  and  hopefulness 
made  him  beloved  by  even  comparative 
strangers,  while  his  friends  doted  on  him. 

Of  course,  it  was  necessary  to  confide  in 
him  to  a  certain  extent.  In  any  case,  he 
would  have  known,  after  a  glance  at  Mrs. 
North,  that  she  was  suffering  from  mental 
shock.  Nellie  took  him  in  one  day  without 
warning  Althea.  She  looked  at  him  with 
eyes  void  of  surprise,  and  listlessly  greeted 
him  ;  they  had  often  met  in  society.  Bur- 
ton sat  down  and  began  talking  of  nearly 

everything  except  illness.     Althea  was  soon 
172 


The  Mastery  of  a  Woman 

languidly  smiling.  Burton  described  a  first 
night  at  a  leading  theatre,  where  he  had 
been  the  evening  before. 

The  smile  broadened,  and  in  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  Althea  was  taking  the  trouble  to 
talk  a  little.  Nellie  glowed  approvingly  in 
the  background.  Not  a  word  was  said  about 
health,  till,  just  as  Burton  was  leaving,  he 
casually  felt  Althea's  pulse.  It  was  so  feeble 
that  it  shocked  him,  though  the  cherubic 
face  never  changed. 

"  I  suspect  you  are  not  eating  enough,"  he 
observed.  "  You're  inclined  to  be  anaemic, 
you  know  ;  you  must  eat."  .  i 

Althea  made  a  little  face. 

41  She's  awfully  bad  about  that,  Jim,"  said 
Nellie.  "  It  takes  me  half  an  hour  to  make 
her  take  a  cup  of  soup." 

"  She  doesn't  want  soup  ;  give  her  chops 
and  steaks  and  whisky-and-soda.  Take 
her  out  driving  to-morrow,  if  it's  a  decent 

morning,"   and  the  doctor  departed,  leaving 
173 


The   Middle  Course 

a  light  and  warmth  in  the  spiritual  atmos- 
phere which  had  not  been  there  when  he 
came. 

That  afternoon  Moorlake  gave  way  to  a 
sudden  impulse — one  that  an  American 
would  have  had  long  before.  He  was  pass- 
ing a  flower  shop,  and  instantly  resolved  to 
send  some  violets  and  roses  to  Althea.  He 
ordered  the  young  woman  in  the  shop  to  un- 
bind one  of  the  great,  flat,  jammed-together 
bouquets  of  violets,  liberating  the  poor  little 
blossoms  and  removing  the  bundle  of  straws 
around  which,  for  unknown  reasons,  the 
stems  are  gathered  ;  the  result  was  a  lovely, 
fragrant,  loose  bunch  surrounded  by  leaves. 
This,  with  a  handful  of  tea  roses,  he  ordered 
to  be  sent  to  Campden  Hill.  On  his  card 
he  wrote,  "  So  grieved  that  you  are  ill ; " 
then,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  added 
11  Clement." 

To   him   that   addition   of  his   Christian 
name  meant  a  great  deal ;  he  supposed  it 


The  Mastery  of  a  Woman 

would  mean  much  to  her  also.  It  seemed  a 
sort  of  acknowledgment  that  their  intimacy 
had  not  yet  snapped  in  two— a  declaration 
that  he  meant  to  stand  by  her. 

The  box  was  carried  to  Althea's  bed. 
When  Nellie  came  in  to  have  tea  with  her, 
she  found  her  lying  with  her  face  covered 
with  roses  and  violets. 

Mrs.  Vincent  brushed  the  flowers  aside 
and  looked  into  her  eyes.  The  soul  had 
come  back  to  them. 

"Clement? "asked  Nellie. 

11  Yes,"  breathed  Althea,  softly,  and  held 
out  the  little  card,  crushed  and  warm  from 
lying  in  her  hand. 

"  You've  been  kissing  it  ! "  said  Nellie, 
banteringly,  while  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 
"  Oh,  men,  men  !  they  hold  us  as  you  do 
that  card— to  kiss  or  to  crush  us,  as  the  fancy 
takes  them  !  What  a  pity  it  should  be  so ! " 

Althea's  face  beamed. 

"  I  didn't  know  he  cared,"  said  Althea. 


The   Middle  Course 

Next  day  she  was  a  changed  woman,  and 
went  for  a  drive. 

Meanwhile  it  must  not  be  supposed  that 
the  world  was  standing  still.  Women  were 
gossiping  over  their  tea-cups,  as  usual,  and 
the  North  scandal  was  being  pretty  generally 
discussed.  Its  vagueness  made  it  the  more 
piquant.  How  do  these  things  become 
known  ? 

In  the  first  place,  Moorlake's  servant  had 
heard  North  run  from  the  house  and  bang 
the  door  behind  him.  Then  the  coachman 
had  seen  Clement  supporting  Althea  and 
almost  lifting  her  into  the  carriage. 

Next,  the  Vincents'  parlor-maid  had  ob- 
served the  bruise  on  Althea's  forehead. 
The  Norths'  servants  were  but  human,  and 
they  had  many  friends  in  neighboring  estab- 
lishments. From  the  servants'  hall  to  the 
drawing-rcom  is  but  the  distance  of  two 
flights  of  stairs,  and  news  sails  like  thistle- 
down through  the  air.  Before  long  it  be- 
176 


The  Master}7  of  a  Woman 

came  known  that  the  North  household  was 
broken  up  and  that  Mrs.  North  had  taken 
refuge  with  the  Vincents. 

It  was  an  anxious  time  for  Clarice  Hilyer. 
It  was  the  first  serious  mistake  of  her  life— 
from  her  point  of  view— when  she  told  Oliver 
North  that  his  wife  was  in  Moorlake's  studio. 
She  dared  contribute  nothing  to  the  surmises 
of  the  tea-drinkers,  yet  her  very  silence  was 
taken  to  mean  that  she  could,  if  she  would, 
enlighten  them.  Thus  she  became  in  some 
wise  involved  in  the  mystery. 

Althea's  reputation  had  been  so  perfect 
that  nothing  was  said  against  her.  Her 
husband's  meanness  and  neglect  had  been 
an  open  secret,  and  she  had  won  everybody's 
respect  by  her  silent  endurance  of  his 
caprices.  It  was  scarcely  known  among  her 
friends  that  she  had  seen  anything  of  Moor- 
lake  ;  for  that  reason  he  hoped  intensely 
that  a  scandal  might  be  avoided. 

One   afternoon   Mrs.    Hilyer   sat   in   her 
12  177 


The  Middle  Course 

white-paneled  drawing-room,  surrounded  by 
the  pretty  and  quaint  things  that  her  taste 
had  brought  together.  One  rose-shaded 
lamp  painted  the  room  with  flattering  tints. 
The  tea  had  just  been  brought  up,  the  bits 
of  old  silver  on  the  tray  twinkled  delightfully 
in  the  firelight.  Clarice  poured  out  a  cup- 
ful and  daintily  dropped  a  thin  slice  of  lemon 
into  it.  At  that  moment  Clement  Moorlake 
was  announced. 

The  hand  she  held  out  to  him  was  cold 
with  a  sudden  emotion. 

He  had  never  worn  more  markedly  his 
"  Spanish  hidalgo  air  ; "  his  manner  was 
smooth  and  courtly,  but  there  was  a  danger 
signal  in  his  eyes. 

"You  see,  I  am  neighborly  at  last,"  he 
said,  as  he  sat  down  near  her. 

"You  have  owed  me  a  call  for  quite  a 
fortnight— a  first  call,  too,  that  ought  to  be  re- 
turned within  a  week.  Cream  or  lemon  ? " 

Her    hand    hovering    over    the    flower- 
178 


The  Mastery  of  a  Woman 

sprinkled  cups  was  not  only  cold,  but  un- 
steady. 

11  Milk  and  no  sugar,  thank  you,"  said 
Moorlake.  "  I  was  sorry  your  call  was  cut 
so  short.  I  wish  you  had  stayed." 

Clarice  dared  to  look  toward  him,  and  met 
his  eyes  full.  He  looked  like  an  executioner. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  you  mean  that  ? "  she 
purred  ;  then,  to  hide  the  shaking  hand,  she 
took  up  a  silver  cigarette  case  and  selected 
a  cigarette.  "  Will  you  smoke  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  will  watch  you,"  said  Moorlake. 

"  Do  you  disapprove  ?  Do  you  think  it 
a  vice  ? "  she  asked,  as  she  applied  a  wax 
match  and  the  tobacco  caught  fire. 

"  It  is  at  least  a  vice  that  injures  only  the 
person  who  indulges  in  it,"  said  Moorlake. 

"  It  spoils  the  curtains,"  said  Clarice. 

"  They  are  easily  purified,"  said  he. 

"  Would  that  we  might  send  our  con- 
sciences twice  a  year  to  be  cleansed  in  the 

same  way,"  said  she. 

179 


The  Middle  Course 

"  Do  you  feel  the  need  of  that  ?  I  thought 
women  did  not  require  that  process." 

He  was  drinking  his  tea,  and  she  was 
smoking.  She  was  thoroughly  at  home  in 
her  management  of  a  cigarette  ;  she  kept 
the  end  dry  and  didn't  gasp,  swallow  the 
smoke  or  get  it  into  her  eyes  till  they 
blinked,  as  some  women  do.  She  had  a 
knowing  way  of  knocking  off  the  ashes, 
too  ;  she  took  refuge  in  the  manoeuver  now, 
for  she  was  not  quite  sure  yet  of  her  self- 
control. 

"You  see,"  she  observed,  "  it  takes  a  fort- 
night to  have  anything  cleaned  ;  one  couldn't 
do  for  two  weeks  without  a  conscience  ! " 

Clement  smiled  in  spite  of  himself.  She 
was  exquisite,  sitting  in  the  pale  brocade 
chair,  in  her  scarlet  crepe  tea  gown. 

"  I  have  thought  this  last  fortnight  that 
yours  had  gone  to  the  cleaner's— or  some- 
where else,"  he  said. 

"  That,"  said  she,  readily,  "  pre-supposes 
1 80 


The  Mastery  of  a  Woman 

that  I  had  one  to  send.  When  a  thing  is 
soiled  past  all  cleaning  it  goes — not  to  the 
cleaner,  but  to  the  dust-bin.  But  why  this 
magisterial  air,  Mr.  Moorlake?  What  have 
I  done  ? " 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  I  wish  you 
would  tell  me  that,"  said  Moorlake.  He  set 
down  his  cup  and  gave  his  undivided  atten- 
tion to  her. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  she,  breathing  more 
freely  now  that  the  smoke  veiled  her  face, 
"  I  have  always  thought  that  what  art  gained 
in  you  was  a  distinct  loss  to  the  Church  i 
With  you  I  always  feel  as  if  all  seasons  of 
the  year  were  Lent." 

"  This  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  called 
me  a  prig,  Mrs.  Hilyer.  I  dare  say  you  are 
right ;  but  a  man  isn't  best  pleased  to  be 
thought  ultra-good,  strange  as  it  may  appear. 
I  think  you  know  that." 

"  Then  he  should  do  something  to  prove 

the  contrary.     Perhaps  you  have." 
181 


The  Middle  Course 

He  smiled  again  at  her  audacity,  but  the 
smile  was  chill  ;  she  saw  war  in  it. 

"  Is  it  your  experience  of  men  that  they 
are  too  good  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  have  known  so  many  !     All  kinds,' 
said  Clarice.     All  kinds,  and  yet  all  so  much 
alike." 

"  You  find  man  a  wearisome  study  ?  " 

"  Not  when  he  talks  in  enigmas,  like 
you — "  Then,  quite  abruptly  :  "  Why  do 
you  wish  I'd  stayed  the  other  day  ? " 

"  Because  in  my  studio  you  would  have 
been — "  He  paused. 

"  Yes  ?  well  ?  would  have  been ? " 

"  Safe." 

There  was  a  slight  pause. 

She  looked  at  him  with  expanded  eyes. 

"  Have  I  been  in  danger,  then  ? "  she 
asked  ;  adding  suddenly,  with  a  delicious 
smile,  "  Is  every  one  safe  in  your  studio,  Mr. 
Moorlake  ? " 

Clement  blushed  crimson. 
182 


The  Mastery  of  a  Woman 

She  did  not  wait  to  hear  his  answer. 

"Where  is  Oliver  North?"  she  asked, 
quickly,  with  a  splendid  glow  of  courage. 

"  Where  you  have  sent  him  !  "  he  retorted, 
sharp  and  short.  The  answer  burst  out  in- 
dependent of  his  volition. 

"  Come  !  "  said  Clarice.  "  Good  !  The 
buttons  are  off  at  last  !  Which  has  pricked 
the  other  deepest  ?  " 

She  laughed  a  little  and  began  lighting 
another  cigarette. 

"Stop  smoking!"  said  Clement.  He 
stood  up  and  came  nearer — stood  over  her, 
towering.  "  Attend  to  me  !  I  want  the 
truth." 

"  An  old  want  !  "  she  smiled  ;  "  and  such 
a  vague  one  !  Who  knows  the  truth  ? " 

"  You  know  it  !  "  he  said,  in  a  low,  tense 
voice.  "  You  know  what  you've  done  to  in- 
jure an  innocent  woman.  What  did  you 
say  to  North?" 

Her  heart  quivered  with  fright,  but  she 
183 


The   Middle  Course 

sat  very  still.  She  felt  amid  her  fear  a  sort 
of  exultation  in  his  strength  and  beauty  while 
he  dominated  her. 

"  Why  do  you  think  I  said  anything  to 
North?"  she  asked,  steadily. 

"  I  know  it,"  he  said,  shortly.  "  What  was 
it?" 

"I  refuse  to  tell." 

"  I  insist." 

11 1  refuse." 

Moorlake  was  terrified  by  the  sudden  fury 
that  swept  through  him.  He  dared  not  re- 
main so  near  her  ;  he  took  a  turn  up  and 
down  the  little  room.  She  sank  back  in  her 
chair,  pallid  above  her  scarlet  draperies. 
Fear,  pride,  love,  desire,  all  fought  within 
her.  She  loved  torturing  him,  yet  her 
heart  was  torn  ;  it  was  hard  to  deny  him. 

In  a  few  moments  he  mastered  himself 
and  returned  to  her. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  with  deadly 

coldness  ;  "  I  was  wrong.     I  will  go." 
184 


The  Mastery  of  a  Woman 

He  turned  to  leave  her.  In  one  spring 
she  flung  herself  against  him. 

"Moorlake!"  she  half-sobbed.  "Don't 
go!  I'll  tell  you!  Don't  go!" 

She  seized  his  hand  in  both  her  own. 

"  Clement  !  "  she  cried,  "  don't  go  !  " 
She  seemed  incapable  of  any  other 
words. 

He  looked  down  at  her  half  in  pity— the 
pity  that  a  man  feels  for  a  woman  when  his 
passion  does  not  answer  hers— a  pity  on  the 
border  of  contempt.  But  he  was  too  kind 
to  hurt  any  woman  unnecessarily. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said.  "  Compose  your- 
self, and  answer  me  one  question.  Don't 
speak  now  ;  take  time." 

In  an  agony  of  shame  she  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands.  She  was  within  a  few  inches  of 
him,  and  she  knew  that  the  poles  divided 
them. 

He  was  the  only  man  who  had  ever  really 

mastered  her  ;  and  she  knew  that  for  him 
185 


The  Middle  Course 

she  did  not  exist.  In  a  moment  he  would 
get  what  he  wanted  and  she  would  never 
see  him  again.  She  drew  out  the  minute  to 
its  fullest  extent.  They  had  sunk  to  the  sofa, 
he  with  unspoken  scorn,  as  far  from  her  as 
its  limits  allowed  ;  she  with  her  heart  bound- 
ing, her  temples  beating,  every  feeling  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  one  thought  that  she  would 
lose  him  at  the  end  of  a  minute.  And  the 
minute  expired  and  another  was  born,  and 
still  she  was  silent,  still  she  crouched,  palpi- 
tating, with  her  face  hidden.  He  was  stern 
and  pale  ;  he  would  not  relent.  She  dared 
not  face  him,  for  she  felt,  without  seeing,  the 
look  in  his  face.  The  second  minute  slipped 
by,  and  then  he  spoke. 

"  What  did  you  say  to  Oliver  North  ? "  he 
demanded,  and  his  voice  sounded  like  the 
trump  of  doom. 

There  was  no  help  for  it ;  she  had  to 
speak. 

"  I  only  told  him—"  she  whispered. 
1 86 


The  Mastery  of  a  Woman 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  forced  patience. 
"Yes;  you  told  him ?" 

11  She  was  there."     Her  voice  died  away. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  he  asked,  still  inexorable. 

"  Yes,  all." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Moorlake.  He  rose  to 
go.  She  stretched  out  one  hand  to  him  ; 
the  other  still  hid  her  face. 

11  Is  that  all  you  want  ? "  she  asked,  in  a 
muffled  voice. 

Moorlake  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  All,"  he  said.  "  No,  one  thing  more. 
Will  you  promise  me  not  to  injure  her  ?  She 
is  an  innocent  woman." 

Then  at  last  she  uncovered  her  face,  and 
her  eyes  blazed  at  him. 

"  No  !  no !  "  she  said.  "  I  won't  promise! 
She  must  take  her  chances,  like  other 
women." 

His  face  hardened  again. 

"Think,"  he  said,  "  if  there  were  anything 

in  your  life  you  would  wish  to  hide  !  " 
187 


The  Middle  Course 

She  looked  at  him  defiantly. 

"  There  is  no  such  thing,"  she  said. 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  assented.  "  I  said, 
'//"there  were.'  I  appealed  to  your  imagi- 
nation— that  was  all." 

His  cold  words  stung  like  hail. 

He  looked  full  at  her  and  added,  pointed- 
ly :  "  There  is  nothing,  of  course — noth- 
ing." 

She  grew  restive  under  his  eyes  and 
changed  color. 

"Why  should  I  go  out  of  my  way,"  she 
asked,  uneasily,  "  to  shield  a  woman  who  is 
not  even  a  friend  of  mine  ? " 

"  Only  because  she  is  a  woman — a  woman 
who  never  injured  you,  and  never  would 
wish  to  injure  anyone.  Be  magnanimous, 
as  you  can  afford  to  be." 

"  You  think,"  said  Clarice,  with  a  strange 
smile,  "  that  I  can't  afford  to  be  anything 
else  ?  " 

"You  can  afford  to  be  anyt  hingyou  choose, 
1 88 


The  Mastery  of  a  Woman 

but  I  know  that  you  will  choose  to  be  only 
what  is  kind — and  generous." 

She  flashed  out,  suddenly  : 

"  I  wonder  if  you  would  protect  me  like 
this,  if  /  were  in  her  power." 

"  Undoubtedly,"  said  Moorlake. 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  and  waited  with  a 
strained  face  for  the  answer.  It  was  very 
simple. 

"  Because,"  he  said,  "  you  are  a  woman." 

Her  muscles  relaxed  and  she  fell  back 
listlessly. 

"  What  a  tragedy  !  "  she  murmured,  "  to 
be  a  woman  ! " 

"  Only  for  those  who  will  have  it  so,"  said 
Moorlake.  "  Come,"  he  added  ;  "  I  have 
your  promise  ? " 

She  thought  she  saw  a  gleam  of  humanity. 
After  a  moment's  hesitation  she  said  : 

"  I  promise — but  it  is  for  you." 

"  For  me  or  for  her,"  he  answered,  "  it  is 

the  same  thing." 

189 


The  Middle  Course 

"You  are  one  ?"  said  Clarice,  with  a  re- 
turn of  the  old  mockery. 

"  One  in  the  desire  not  to  suffer  for  a  sin 
of  which  we  are  innocent,"  said  Clement, 
gravely.  "Thank  you,"  he  added,  presently, 
and  without  another  word  left  the  room. 


190 


CHAPTER  XII 

SCANDAL 

IT  is  a  well-known  fact  that  a  crushed  and 
sorrowing  soul  takes  refuge  in  change  of 
scene  and,  what  is  equally  trite,  carries  its 
misery  with  it  wherever  it  goes. 

Althea's  distaste  for  London  grew  and 
grew  to  such  an  extent  that  she  could  re- 
main there  no  longer.  She  was  now  prac- 
tically dependent  on  the  Vincents.  Her 
long  and  trying  interviews  with  Oliver's  so- 
licitor had  been  unproductive.  The  man 
pitied  her  sincerely  and  wished  to  help  her  ; 
but  the  machinery  of  the  law  is  hard  to  set 
in  motion  and,  like  the  mills  of  the  gods, 
grinds  slow.  He  promised  to  extort  money 

from  North  if  he  could  possibly  do  so  ;  he 
191 


The   Middle  Course 

disliked  his  client  and  respected  Althea,  and 
she  knew  that  he  would  do  his  best. 

There  was  no  news  of  Violet  ;  and  what 
that  meant  to  the  mother  only  mothers  can 
know. 

Althea  had  a  few  fine  jewels  given  her  by 
her  husband  during  the  soon  chilled  warmth 
of  the  honeymoon.  These  Bertie  sold  for 
her,  and  thus  her  immediate  necessities  were 
supplied. 

Somehow  or  other  some  hint  as  to  the 
condition  of  her  affairs  had  got  abroad. 
Mrs.  Mellor,the  devoted  and  insipid  bride — 
a  bride  no  longer — met  her  in  the  street  and 
passed  her  without  recognition,  while  a 
burning  blush  on  the  lovely  Christmas-sup- 
plement face  told  Althea  that  the  slight  was 
intentional.  The  untempted  virtuous 
woman  cut  the  tempted  virtuous  one. 

Another  day,  when  Althea  was  sitting  in 
Kensington  Gardens  under  budding  elms, 

Mrs.   Banfrey,  the   actor's  wife,  came  by. 
192 


Scandal 

Althea  prepared  herself  for  another  rebuff. 
But  with  all  its  faults  the  stage  is  not  nar- 
row-minded. Mrs.  Banfrey  stopped  and 
seized  her  hand. 

"  My  dear  ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  where  have 
you  kept  yourself  ?  What  are  you  afraid 
of  ?  We  all  like  you  ;  why  don't  you  go 
about  any  more  ? " 

Althea  colored  painfully,  but  she  held  the 
hand  with  gratitude  ;  she  was  mean-spirited 
enough  to  like  pity. 

"  No  one  believes  it,"  continued  Mrs. 
Banfrey.  She  sat  down  and  patted  the  hand 
she  still  held.  "And  if  anyone  did,"  she 
added,  "  the  time  for  high  moral  indignation 
is  over.  Haven't  other  women  had  dis- 
agreeable husbands  ? — and  haven't  they  liked 
other  men  better  ?  It's  quite  natural  ;  any- 
body who  says  it  isn't  is  a  sneak  and  a  story- 
teller. Why  don't  you  face  the  world  ?  It'll 
be  all  right  when  you're  married." 

Althea  pulled  back  her  hand  quickly. 
13  193 


The   Middle  Course 

"Married?"  she  repeated.  "What  do 
you  mean  ? " 

"  Married  to  Moorlake.  Of  course,  he 
will  marry  you  ? " 

Mrs.  Banfrey  looked  at  her  over  her  sable 
collar,  with  a  handsome  face  full  of  frank 
friendliness.  Althea  turned  cold. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  she  said,  with 
painful  agitation.  "  Mr.  Moorlake  is  nothing 
to  me — or  I  to  him.  I  don't  know  what 
you've  heard,  but  whatever  it  is,  it  is  not 
true." 

Mrs.  Banfrey  looked  confused. 

"Now  you're  angry,"  she  said.  "  I'm  so 
sorry.  I  didn't  mean  any  harm.  Even  if 
it  were  true,  you  know,  I  should  like  you  just 
as  much — and  I  always  liked  you  when  we 
used  to  meet  at  Nellie's,  though  I  never 
knew  you  well." 

"  Would  you  like  it,"  asked  Althea,  almost 
fiercely,  '*  if  people  told  lies  against  your 

character  ? " 

194 


Scandal 

Mrs.  Banfrey  reflected  a  moment. 

"No,"  she  admitted.  "  I  don't  suppose  I 
should.  Perhaps  they  do  ;  if  they  don't,  it's 
because  I'm  absurdly,  pitifully  in  love  with 
my  own  husband,  as  a  hundred  other  women 
are,  worse  luck  !  " 

"  I  have  not  wronged  my  husband  in  any 
way,"  Althea  burst  out.  "  It  is  all  the  other 
way  ;  but  there  is  no  use  in  talking  about 
him."  Her  mouth  trembled  weakly. 

11  You  poor  dear !  "  said  the  actor's  wife. 
"  How  can  anyone  be  a  brute  to  you !  I 
almost  wish  it  were  true — that  that  icy  piece 
of  perfection  would  come  to  life  and  carry 
you  off." 

Althea  could  not  answer  this  preposterous 
remark.  Presently  she  said  :  "  Mrs.  Mellor 
cut  me  dead  day  before  yesterday.  I  think 
she  was  cruel." 

Mrs.  Banfrey  made  an  inarticulate  sound 
expressive  of  disdain. 

"  That  china  image  !     She  nearly  killed 


The   Middle  Course 

Geoff  that  night  at  Nellie's.  It  really  isn't 
fair  of  the  Creator  to  make  a  thing  so  pretty 
and  fill  it  only  with  clockwork.  Why,  Mrs. 
North,  you  have  more  soul  in  your  little 
finger  than  she  has  brains  in  her  head  !  The 
little  barber's  block  !  " 

"She  is  happy,"  said  Althea.  "She  has 
a  husband  who  loves  and  protects  her  ;  she 
has  never  known  temptation,  and  she  can 
afford  to  trample  on  an  unfortunate  woman 
who  has  nothing." 

Mrs.  Banfrey  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"  And  it  isn't  true,"  she  said  ;  "  not  any 
of  it?" 

Althea  faced  her  gravely. 

"What  is  true,"  she  said,  "  is  that  I  am  a 
deserted  wife,  who  has  lost  her  child,  and 
who  has  no  lover.  That  is  the  truth  ;  you 
may  tell  it  to  everyone  who  wants  to  know." 

"My  poor  dear!"  cried  Mrs.  Banfrey. 
"  I  believe  you, every  word,  and  I'll  standby 

you  through  everything.    And  as  for  Mrs. 
196 


Scandal 

Mellor,  she  must  pay  for  her  boxes— after 
this  !     Geoff  sha'n't  give  her  any  !  " 

Althea  hurried  home  and  into  Nellie's 
arms.  "  Take  me  away,"  she  said  ;  "  I  can't 
bear  it  any  more." 

And  so,  without  a  word  to  Clement,  they 
crossed  the  Channel. 


197 


CHAPTER    XIII 

MRS.    MOORLAKE    CALLS 

BRITTANY  in  the  Spring  is  a  very  fair  substi- 
tute for  England.  The  lanes  are  full  of  im- 
mense primroses  ;  the  fruit  trees  are  loaded 
with  bloom,  for  as  yet  no  drought  has 
browned  the  grass  and  withered  the  leaves. 
The  keen  sea  breeze  counteracts  theunsani 
tary  condition  of  the  towns  and  disinfects 
the  atmosphere  of  places  where  drains  are 
a  name  and  good  water  a  priceless  boon. 

The  Vincents  had  found  an  old  chateau, 
standing  in  a  great  garden  near  a  little  Bre- 
ton village,  not  many  kilometers  from  a 
certain  fashionable  town  on  the  coast. 
There  was  a  winding  path  through  the 

beech  woods  which  led  to  the  shores  of  the 
199 


The   Middle  Course 

Ranee,  that  wide  river  which  is  really  not 
a  river,  but  a  huge  salt  arm  of  the  sea. 

The  chateau  was  a  large,  square,  white 
stucco  building  three  stories  high,  the  third 
story  formed  by  the  gray  slate  roof.  It  was 
draped  thickly  with  wistaria,  Virginia 
creeper  and  roses  white  and  yellow,  which 
flowered  riotously  even  in  Spring  in  that 
sheltered  spot.  The  salon  and  the  dining- 
room  were  paneled  in  white  wood.  There 
were  old  portraits  and  ancient  mirrors  in 
tarnished  frames  on  the  walls.  The  furni- 
ture was  stately  and  chipped  and  moth- 
eaten.  The  curtains  were  of  white  muslin, 
so  often  washed  that  they  had  become  what 
the  French  call  too  "ripe  "  to  bear  washing 
again.  The  garden  was  a  mass  of  bloom. 
The  sun-dial  was  almost  covered  with  roses. 
The  borders  of  the  pond  were  rich  in  ferns, 
the  flower  beds  were  edged  with  straw- 
berries, and  the  paths  lined  with  thickets  of 

lilac,  bay  and  box. 

200 


Mrs.  Moorlake  Calls 

The  life  was  ideally  simple.  The  Vin- 
cents, who  never  wanted  company  when 
they  had  each  other,  were  perfectly 
happy  in  this  solitude.  Bertie  had  his 
camera,  his  easel,  his  piano,  his  sailboat  ; 
Nellie  tended  the  garden  and  learned  new 
dishes  from  the  cook,  who  wore  a  wonder- 
ful thin  muslin  Breton  cap,  full  of  inexpli- 
cable pins  and  streamers  ;  took  long  walks 
in  the  flowering  lanes,  sailed  on  the  Ranee, 
drove  sometimes  to  the  neighboring  townr 
where  she  had  friends  ;  made  lace,  wrote 
letters — and  was  quite  contented. 

With  Althea  it  was  different.  Nature 
alone  is  not  enough  to  banish  sorrow.  Soli- 
tude has  often  a  corroding  effect  on  a  char- 
acter already  inclined  to  be  morbid.  Althea 
should  have  had  company  and  distraction, 
but  she  was  too  sensitive  in  her  present 
anomalous  position  to  desire  them.  Moor- 
lake  was  silent ;  he,  too,  was  waiting. 

One  day,  when  Althea  was  sitting  in  the 
20 1 


The   Middle  Course 

blooming  garden,  where  the  keen,  almost 
cold  air  contrasted  with  the  wealth  of  flow- 
ers, the  postman  came,  as  usual.  She  had 
ceased  to  expect  news  from  the  outside 
world,  and  when  the  maid  handed  her  a 
letter  she  took  it  with  unfeigned  lack  of  in- 
terest. It  was  a  document  in  a  long,  legal- 
looking  envelope,  with  American  stamps  on 
it,  and  the  postmark  was  Sioux  Falls,  Da- 
kota. She  opened  the  cover  and  read  the 
contents.  It  was  long  before  she  mastered 
them.  When  the  meaning  penetrated  at  last 
to  her  tortured  understanding  she  rose  and 
went  to  Nellie.  Nellie,  her  constant  refuge, 
was  putting  fresh  roses  into  vases  in  the 
dining-room.  Bertie  was  sitting  in  the 
corner,  cleaning  his  palette. 

"  Nellie— Bertie— "  said  Althea,  and  for  a 
moment  could  say  no  more.  Her  face  was 
dreadful — suddenly  sunken  as  if  death  had 
touched  it. 

Bertie  sprang  up,  and  Nellie  put  her  arm 

202 


Mrs.  Moorlake  Calls 

round  her.  They  saw  the  paper  in  her  hand, 
and  gently  drew  it  away. 

"  Look  ! "  she  said  ;  "  it  is  come.    Look  !  " 

Vincent  examined  the  paper.  It  was  a 
formal  announcement  that  on  a  certain  date 
Oliver  North  had  sued  for  a  divorce  and  the 
case  had  "  gone  by  default."  It  had  been 
one  of  those  monstrous  and  iniquitous  mock- 
eries of  law  which  have  become  custom- 
ary, and  which  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment either  cannot  or  will  not  put  an  end 
to. 

"What  does  it  mean,  Bertie  ?"  asked 
Althea.  "  I  don't  quite  understand." 

Vincent's  face  was  very  stern. 

"  It  means,"  said  he,  "that  North  has  had 
his  revenge.  He  has  divorced  her,"  he 
added,  to  his  wife. 

"  The  brute  !  "  cried  Nellie. 

"And  my  child  ?"  said  Althea. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment ;  no  one 

answered. 

203 


The   Middle  Course 

"  I'm  afraid  he  has  the  child,"  presently 
said  Vincent. 

Again  weakness  overcame  Althea;  she 
sank  into  a  chair  and  hid  her  face.  Nellie 
felt  that  she  could  offer  no  comfort  just  then. 
She  went  on  mechanically  handling  the  roses 
on  the  table.  After  a  few  moments,  during 
which  all  three  were  silent,  Althea  looked 
up. 

"  This  means,"  said  Althea,  "  that  I  am 
free.  Disgraced— and  free." 

"  Free,  but  not  disgraced,"  said  Vincent, 
warmly.  "  There  is  not  a  creature  in  the 
world  who  believes  you  guilty." 

Althea  smiled  sadly. 

"  Can  I  keep  this  a  secret — for  a  time  ? " 
she  asked.  "  I  don't  want.  ..." 

The  Vincents  had  enough  perception  to 
fill  in  the  pause.  They  knew  that  she  was 
thinking  of  Moorlake. 

"  Will  it  be  in  the  papers?"  Althea  went 

on. 

204 


Mrs.  Moorlake  Calls 

11  In  the  American  ones,  I  suppose,"  said 
Nellie  ;  "  but  people  in  London  don't  see 
them  much." 

"  I  will  go  away  for  a  little,"  said  Althea. 
"  I  want  to  think,"  and  she  left  the  room. 

Her  friends  heard  her  slowly  ascending 
the  stairs.  They  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Will  he  come  ?  "  asked  Nellie,  and  Ber- 
tram only  shook  his  head,  like  one  in  doubt. 

A  week  after  the  arrival  of  the  letter  some- 
thing occurred  hardly  less  disquieting.  One 
afternoon,  when  the  Vincents  were  sailing 
on  the  Ranee,  Althea  was  wandering  aim- 
lessly in  the  garden.  Exquisite  nature  was 
by  degrees  soothing  her  pain.  It  is  hard 
to  carry  a  sorrow  under  a  blue  sky  amid 
roses.  For  a  time,  while  the  breeze  blows 
and  the  flowers  bloom  and  the  sun  shines, 
one  must  relax  one's  hold  on  trouble.  It 
was  so  with  Althea.  Something  of  the 

sweet,    impersonal    charm  of  nature    stole 

205 


The   Middle  Course 

over  her ;  her  mind  was  gro\vn  accustomed 
to  care,  and  to-day  she  bore  it  more  lightly; 
it  began  to  chafe  her  less. 

The  Breton  maid  came  out  under  the 
trees,  her  snowy  cap  shining  white  under 
the  sun  rays.  She  held  a  salver,  and  on  it 
was  a  card. 

11  Mrs.  Moorlake." 

The  utter  unexpectedness  of  the  name 
stopped  Althea's  blood  for  an  instant. 

It  took  but  a  moment  to  cross  the  grass 
and  enter  the  house,  but  that  moment  was 
fraught  with  a  dozen  sensations.  She  would 
not  give  herself  time  to  hesitate  and  grow 
timid.  She  went  straight  to  the  salon. 

Mrs.  Moorlake  sat  very  upright  in  an  old 
carved  chair,  one  hand  on  its  arm,  the  other 
holding  a  parasol.  She  rose  as  Mrs.  North 
came  in.  Her  gown  was  of  black  silk,  made 
in  a  bygone  style,  but  she  looked  like 
a  queen — the  queen  of  fiction,  not  of  real  life. 

Eyes    like   Clement's  fixed   themselves  on 
206 


Mrs.  Moorlake  Calls 

Althea,  who  forced  herself  to  meet  them. 
She  felt  that  they  were  hostile. 

Neither  spoke  for  a  few  moments.  The 
strain  was  manifestly  disagreeable. 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  of  knowing  you 
well,"  said  Mrs.  Moorlake  at  last.  "  You 
may  wonder  at  my  coming.  I  am  at  Dinard 
for  a  day  or  two,  and  I  heard  that  you  were 
here." 

Althea  looked  at  her  with  fascinated  atten- 
tion. Even  the  voice  was  like  Clement's. 
An  agony  of  longing  rushed  over  her — long- 
ing to  hear  his  voice,  not  the  counterfeit, 
which  brought  only  a  sense  of  trouble,  with- 
out consolation. 

"  Oh,  you  are  at  Dinard  ?  "  she  said,  hardly 
knowing  what  she  said.  "  A  pretty  place, 
isn't  it  ?" 

"  Pretty  enough,  but  I  don't  like  the  na- 
tives,said  the  old  lady,  dryly.  "  My  mind  is  too 
much  occupied  with  a  rather  painful  subject 

— I  cannot  enjoy  the  beauties  of  Brittany, 
207 


The   Middle  Course 

or  of  any  other  place,  because  of  this  pre- 
occupation  " 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Althea,  with  colorless 
civility.  She  was  bracing  herself  for  what 
was  coming. 

"  I  will  not  apologize  for  my  visit,"  went 
on  Mrs.  Moorlake. 

11  I  am  sure  you  never  apologize  for  any- 
thing," said  Althea,  and  was  shocked  to  hear 
the  enmity  expressed  in  her  tone. 

The  note  of  war  had  been  sounded.  Mrs. 
Moorlake's  nostrils  expanded— fine,  sensitive 
nostrils  like  those  of  her  son. 

"  I  do  not  apologize  for  what  I  do,"  she 
said,  "  because  I  do  nothing  that  I  think 
wrong." 

11  That  is  certainly  the  way  to  be  happy," 
observed  Althea.  Her  courage  had  returned. 

"  I  have  never  seen  you,  except  once  in 
my  son's  studio — I  will  not  recall  that  un- 
lucky day— but  I  fancy  that  you  are  a  woman 

who  will  listen  to  reason." 

208 


Mrs.  Moorlake  Calls 

"  I  have  nothing  else  to  listen  to— when 
you  speak,"  said  Mrs.  North,  politely. 

The  elder  woman  eyed  her  narrowly. 

"  The  present  generation  is  trifling  and 
satirical.  They  would  manufacture  smart 
phrases  at  the  brink  of  the  grave.  It  was  not 
so  with  us.  We  knew  how  to  be  serious.  I 
shall  not  make  a  long  story.  My  son  knows 
nothing  of  this  visit.  He  is  at  home,  and  he 
does  not  think  that  I  am  near  you.  I  heard 
only  two  days  ago  that  your  husband  had 
divorced  you.  You  must  pardon  my  touch- 
ing on  this  painful  subject." 

"  Never  apologize,"  said  Althea,  "  when 
you  are  doing  right." 

"  I  have  been,"  proceeded  the  old  lady, 
"  obliged  to  know  what  has  happened  be- 
tween you  and  my  son — not  much,  perhaps, 
but  too  much,  certainly,  judged  by  the 
standards  of  virtuous  women.  Clement  is 
extremely  chivalrous,  fantastic  even,  in  his 

dealings  with  the  other  sex.  He  and  I  differ, 
14  209 


The   Middle  Course 

He  considers  man  the  aggressor.  I,  on  the 
contrary,  believe  that  women  are  responsible 
to  the  uttermost  for  whatever  happens  to 
them." 

"Your  views  are  extremely  interesting," 
said  Althea,  who  was  very  pale,  "  but  I  fail 
to  see  why  you  made  this  long,  dusty  journey 
for  the  purpose  of  declaring  them  to  a 
stranger."  She  spoke  without  a  shadow  of 
insolence,  but  her  words  nettled  the  other 
woman. 

"  Because  I  have  more  than  the  declara- 
tion of  my  views  to  make.  I  think  it  highly 
probable  that  my  son,  with  his  overstrained 
sense  of  honor,  may  ask  you  to  marry  him. 
You  must  see  that,  for  several  reasons,  this 
must  not  be." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  the  reasons." 

11  You  shall ;  that  is  only  fair.  First  of 
all  I  do  not  recognize  divorce — the  Church 
does  not,  either.  In  any  case,  your  divorce 
is  one  of  those  fraudulent  ones  obtainable 

2IO 


Mrs.  Moorlake  Calls 

only  in  America.  You  cannot  marry  again, 
legally — at  least,  not  in  England.  Is  not 
that  reason  enough  ? " 

"  If  there  are  more  reasons  I  should  like 
to  hear  them." 

The  old  lady  looked  at  Althea  with  a  cer- 
tain softening  of  countenance.  She  loved 
courage,  and  admired  that  of  her  victim. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  she  said,  "  so  near 
my  heart  as  my  boy.  He  is  all  I  have.  He 
is  the  best  man  God  ever  made,  and  what 
he  is  to  me  I  can't  even  try  to  express.  He 
is  a  great  sculptor  ;  everyone  recognizes 
that.  He  is  on  the  eve  of  being  made  an 
R.  A.  If  he  marries  a  divorced  woman  he 
will  be  ruined." 

She  paused  and  looked  anxiously  for 
Althea's  reply.  Suddenly  Althea  broke  out 
into  a  peal  of  laughter — laughter  scarcely 
sane. 

Mrs.  Moorlake  was  appalled. 

"  You  laugh  !  "  she  cried,  disgusted. 
211 


The   Middle  Course 

"  I  laugh  !  "  said  Althea,  wiping  her  eyes, 
and  smiling  like  a  mad  woman.  "  Why 
shouldn't  I  ?  I  am  ruined,  penniless,  dis- 
graced— without  husband,  child  or  lover — 
and  all  this  might  be  remedied  if  you  hadn't 
set  your  heart  on  your  son  being  an  R.  A.  ! 
Oh,  it's  funny !  funny  !  "  and  she  laughed 
again,  while  the  tears  trickled  over  her  wan 
face. 

Mrs.  Moorlake  saw  that  she  was  on  the 
verge  of  hysterics,  and  was  alarmed.  She 
produced  a  little  flask  of  lavender  salts  and 
offered  it  to  Althea. 

"  You  have  been  tried  too  far,"  said  Mrs. 
Moorlake,  kindly. 

"  Don't  mind  it,"  said  Althea,  more  calmly. 
"  Everyone  insults  me,  except  the  Vincents. 
I  am  used  to  it,  only — only —  Oh,  have  you 
no  sense  of  proportion  ?  Is  the  Royal  Acad- 
emy heaven  ?  I  know  R.  A.'s  who  are  not 
angels.  Would  you  rather  have  your  son  an 

R.  A.  than  an  honest  man  ? " 
212 


Mrs.  Moorlake  Calls 

Mrs.  Moorlake  kept  her  temper. 

"Try  to  be  calm,"  she  said.  "Let  us  put 
the  Royal  Academy  out  of  the  question,  put 
aside  my  natural  pride  in  my  boy,  and  think 
of  the  other  reasons.  In  order  to  marry  you 
Clement  would  be  obliged  to  expatriate 
himself.  You  and  he  could  not  live  in  Eng- 
land/' 

Althea's  sobs  and  smiles  ceased.  She 
was  once  more  pale  and  composed. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  she  said,  "  your  reasons 
are  good,  but  I  have  one  that  is  better.  You 
take  it  for  granted  that  I  want  to  marry  your 
son.  Nothing  on  earth  would  induce  me  to 
do  so.  Your  son  does  not  love  me." 

Mrs.  Moorlake  sank  back  in  her  chair. 
Surprise  was  pictured  in  her  face. 

"  You  know  that  ? "  she  cried,  and  her 
black  lace  draperies  trembled  with  her 
movement.  "  I  never  would  have  said  it  to 
you  ;  I  am  not  cruel  enough." 

"There  was  very  little  that  you  did  not 
213 


The   Middle  Course 

say,"  said   Althea.     "  You   need  not    have 
spared  me  that.    I  have  never  had  the  slight- 
est wish  to  marry  your  son.     I  repeat,  noth- 
.  ing  on  earth  could  persuade  me  to  do  so." 

The  mother  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  North,"  she  said,  "you 
make  me  very  happy." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Althea  ;  "  that  is  for 
me  a  great  privilege." 

"  You  feel  bitter  toward  me,  I'm  afraid  ; 
but  I  assure  you  that  personally  I  have 
nothing  whatever  against  you." 

"  You  are  very  kind  ;  but  while  we  are  in 
the  Palace  of  Truth  let  me  tell  you  that  I 
very  much  resent  what  you  have  done.  The 
question  was  one  that  only  Mr.  Moorlake  and 
I  could  decide.  You  came  here  without 
warning,  with  a  face  like  a  hanging  judge, 
to  dictate  to  me.  If  I  had  wished  to  marry 
your  son,  do  you  think  I  should  have 
hidden  myself  here  and  concealed  my 

address  ? " 

214 


Mrs.  Moorlake  Calls 

"  Clement  knows  your  address." 

"  He  is  as  indifferent  to  me  as— I  am  to 
him."  Althea  stumbled  in  these  words.  She 
was  by  nature  a  truth-teller.  "  We  have 
been,"  she  went  on,  "involved  in  a  net  of 
terrible  circumstances.  We  must  try  to  for- 
get— to  live  them  down — that  is  all." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Mrs.  North,  and  I 
respect  you,"  said  Mrs.  Moorlake.  She  rose 
somewhat  stiffly  from  her  chair. 

"Never  apologize,"  said  Althea,  smiling. 

"  You  turn  my  words  against  me,"  said 
the  old  lady.  "  May  I  ask  you  one  favor  ? 
Do  not  tell  Clement  that  you  have  seen 
me." 

"  I  have  no  communication  with  Mr. 
Moorlake.  I  trust  you  not  to  mention  my 
name  to  him." 

Mrs.  Moorlake  extended  her  hand. 

Althea  ignored  it  and  walked  toward  the 
door. 

"You   have   a  carriage,  of  course  ?"  she 
215 


The   Middle  Course 

asked.  She  touched  a  bell,  and  the  Bre- 
tonne  appeared. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Mrs.  Moorlake.  There 
was  a  red  flush  on  her  cheeks. 

Althea  stood  on  the  doorsteps  and  watched 
the  carriage  drive  away. 

When  Bertie  and  Nellie  returned  they 
found  her  quite  composed.  She  told  Nellie 
of  Mrs.  Moorlake's  visit. 

"  It  has  done  me  good,"  she  said.  "  She 
made  me  feel  raving  at  first,  but  afterward 
I  realized  .  .  ."  Her  voice  died  away  and 
she  looked  out  of  the  great  window  by  which 
they  were  sitting. 

"  Realized  what  ? "  asked  Nellie,  softly. 

"  How  impossible  it  all  is.  I  think  I  had 
had  a  sort  of  unacknowledged  hope,  or  rather 
wish,  before.  That  old  lady  put  it  all  so 
clearly  to  me,  Nellie.  I  saw  it  all — Clement 
the  cold,  respectable  candidate  for  the  Royal 
Academy,  and  poor  me,  nobody  in  par- 
ticular, weighed  down  by  an  ugly  scandal, 
216 


Mrs.  Moorlake  Calls 

living  on  charity.  You  see  it  wouldn't  do — 
even  if  he  loved  me  ...  I  mean  to  be  very 
different  after  this.  I  intend  to  be  done 
with  sighing  and  crying  and  making  demands 
on  your  sympathies.  I  am  not  old  and  I  am 
not  wicked.  My  sin  is  that  I  have  suffered 
and  suffered  till  I  couldn't  bear  the  pain  any 
more,  and  now  I  am  punished  for  having 
been  patient  so  long.  You  know,  when 
people  in  the  old  days  were  crucified  and 
took  too  much  time  dying,  they  had  their 
bones  broken.  Well,  I  feel  like  that  ;  all 
my  tortures  haven't  killed  me,  but  my  bones 
are  broken.  Mrs.  Moorlake  smashed  a  few 
to-day — her  son  broke  some  before  I  left 
England.  But  I'm  going  to  knit  them  to- 
gether somehow,  and  stand  up  and  face 
people.  Oliver  North  is  the  sinner,  not  I. 
People  will  find  that  out  some  day." 

Althea's  words  were  feverish,  but  not  her 
manner.     Nellie  gazed  at  her  in  surprise. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  with  some  heat,  "  that 
217 


The   Middle  Course 

that  old  woman  deserves  to  be  shut  up.  It 
was  intolerable  of  her  to  come." 

"  She  came  because  she  loved  Clement ; 
and  I  resented  it  because  I  loved  Clement. 
That  fact  can't  be  mended.  I  must  face  it." 
She  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  staring 
out  into  the  dusky  garden.  Then  she  went 
on  :  "  Nellie,  do  you  believe  in  God  ? " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Vincent,  startled. 
"Don't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do  ;  but  I  can't  understand  any- 
thing. I  have  prayed  and  prayed  and 
prayed,  asking  to  be  set  free." 

"And  you  have  been." 

"  Yes,  but  in  what  a  way  !  I  can't  help 
thinking  all  the  time  that  there  must  be  one 
man  on  earth  who  would  have  loved  me. 
He  might  be  poor,  and  not  handsome  ;  but 
if  he  had  only  just  loved  me  .  .  .  It  is  awful 
to  have  all  that  taken  out  of  one's  life  so 
young  !  For  I  am  young  for  my  age— like  a 

child  who  feels  that  she  has  a  right  to  be 
218 


Mrs.  Moorlake  Calls 

happy,  and  yet  can't  be.  I  have  tried  so 
hard  to  find  out  why  Oliver  was  so  cruel  and 
so  indifferent,  why  he  always  left  me,  why  he 
seemed  to  feel  no  responsibility  toward  me  ; 
and  I  don't  know  why.  It's  all  a  puzzle." 

After  a  pause  Nellie  said  :  "  There  is  one 
thing  for  which  I  think  you  should  be  pre- 
pared. I  believe  that  Clement  is  coming 
here." 

Althea  turned  a  shade  paler  in  the  dusk. 
"  Why  ?  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  feel  sure  of  it. 
Bertie  thinks  so,  too." 

"  Don't  let  him  come  !  Oh,  don't  let 
him  !  " 

"Suppose  he  were  to  ask  you  to  marry 
him — to  insist  on  it  ?  " 

"  I  should  refuse." 

"  It  is  easy  to  say  so  now — here  ;  but  sup- 
pose he  were  in  this  room,  beside  you — 
near,  near — with  his  hand  in  yours.j  Could 

you  refuse  ? " 

219 


The  Middle  Course 

Althea  sprang  up  with  a  little  cry.  "You 
are  cruel  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  will  not  see 
him." 

She  walked  restlessly  to  the  other  win- 
dow. The  maid  came  in  with  the  lamps, 
and  the  mellow  glow  showed  Althea  with 
white  face  and  wide,  scared  eyes.  When 
they  were  alone  again  she  came  to  Nellie. 

"  If  you  let  him  come  I'll  never  forgive 
you  !  "  she  said.  "  It  would  be  too  degrad- 
ing !  He  will  ask  me  from  a  sense  of  honor 
to  marry  him— and  I  shall  refuse.  And  he 
will  go  away  again,  and  everything  will  be 
worse  than  ever.  Don't  let  him  come  ! " 

Nellie  sighed. 

"  I  know  I'm  killing  you,"  continued  Al- 
thea, "but  there  will  be  a  change.  I  will 
be  different,  I  swear  it.  I  shall  begin  to- 
morrow." 

Bertie  came  in,  dressed  for  dinner.  Al- 
thea went  up  to  him  and  laid  her  hand  on 

his  arm. 

220 


Mrs.  Moorlake  Calls 

"  I'm  going  to  stop  teasing  you,  Bertie," 
she  said.  "  I'm  going  to  be  a  nursery 
governess  or  something.  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  how  to  begin.  I  want  to  earn  my  living." 

"  All  right,"  said  Vincent,  with*  his  usual 
careless,  pleasant  manner.  "  Begin  by 
governessing  me.  There  are  lots  of  things 
I  need  done  for  me.  Nellie  neglects  me 
shamefully."  The  look  he  cast  on  his  wife 
made  Althea's  eyes  fill. 

11  I'll  do  anything  you  like— and  I  want  to 
go  sailing  and  I  want  to  see  Dinard.  I've 
been  getting  into  bad  ways  lately— I'm  lazy 
and  out  of  sorts,  but  I  mean  now  to  be  ener- 
getic." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Bertie.  "  Come  along 
and  energetically  eat.  '  Madame  estservie,' 
and  I  saw  a  thundering  big  lobster  in  the 
garde-manger  this  afternoon." 

He  held  out  his  arm  to  Althea  and  took 
her  in  to  dinner.  She  was  gay  and  talk- 
ative, as  they  had  not  seen  her  for  a  year  ; 
221 


The   Middle  Course 

but  Bertie  noticed,  the  observation  of  the 
artist  quickened  by  affection,  how  fragile 
and  pinched  her  face  looked  above  the  soft 
lace  of  her  tea  gown. 

As  they  rose  from  the  table  the  post- 
man arrived  and  the  letters  were  brought 
in.  There  was  one  for  Althea. 

It  contained  merely  these  words  : 

The  day  after  you  receive  this  I  shall  be  with  you.  I 
do  not  ask  permission  for  fear  you  may  withhold  it  ;  but 
you  must  be  kind  and  let  me  see  you. 

CLEMENT  MOORLAK.E. 


222 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    LOVER'S  COMING 

WHAT  Althea  most  craved  and  most 
dreaded  had  come  to  pass.  She  finished 
the  evening  creditably,  having  betrayed 
nothing.  Bertie  also  had  received  a  letter 
from  Moorlake  by  the  same  post,  and  was 
concealing  the  fact  from  Althea.  He  felt 
nervous  and  uncomfortable,  finding  himself 
in  the  midst  of  an  affair  that  promised  to  be 
eminently  unsatisfactory  to  everyone  con- 
cerned in  it. 

Althea  thought  that  Nellie  kissed  her  that 
night  with  a  deeper,  more  yearning  tender- 
ness than  usual — happy  Nellie,  whose-  mar- 
riage was  one  of  the  few  perfect  ones.  Each 
knew  the  thoughts  of  the  other,  but  had 

learned  during  the  past  months  to  econo- 

223 


The  Middle  Course 

mize  their  emotions  and  save  themselves  as 
much  nervous  wear  and  tear  as  possible. 

When  Althea  was  alone  she  gave  herself 
no  time  for  thought.  Every  time  that  she 
began  thinking  of  Moorlake  she  instantly 
thought  of  something  else  ;  the  more  trivial 
the  subject  the  better  it  answered  the  pur- 
pose. As  she  lay  in  the  old  paneled  room, 
in  the  dark,  she  tried  to  summon  up  land- 
scapes she  had  seen,  tunes  she  had  heard ; 
she  even  recited  poems  in  her  mind.  There 
was  one  stanza  of  "  Come  into  the  garden, 
Maud,"  which  she  could  never  get  right  the 
first  time,  and  by  constant  mental  repetition 
she  managed  not  to  hear — or  to  pretend  not 
to  hear — the  voice  of  her  subjective  mind, 
which  constantly  whispered  :  "  Clement  is 
coming  to-morrow— what  will  you  say  to 
Clement  ?"  Hers  was  a  brain  that  worked 
very  much  like  a  squirrel  in  a  cage — or  rather 
the  brain  was  the  cage  and  the  squirrel  was 

the  dominating  idea  that    never  was  still. 
224 


The  Lover's  Coming 

It  toiled  with  agonizing  effort  round  and 
round,  round  and  round,  and  never  got  any 
further.  To  lie  in  the  dark  all  alone  with 
that  in  one's  head  is  worse  than  a  nightmare  ; 
the  process  is  practically  endless,  and  has 
nothing  of  the  sharp  crisis  of  a  bad  dream, 
from  which  one  must  wake. 

Althea  clutched  her  pillow  and  strained 
every  fibre  in  her  quest  of  diversion.  Scene 
after  scene  rose  before  her  mind  with  the 
distinctness  given  by  overwrought  nerves 
Often  the  face  of  Violet  came,  and  it  was  so 
terrible  to  her  that  she  hastened  to  think  of 
something— anything— else.  She  found 
herself  trying  to  count  her  clothes  and  cal- 
culate what  a  Summer  wardrobe  would  cost  ; 
then  suddenly  she  would  repeat  the  names 
of  the  Caesars,  making  a  mistake  and  going 
back  to  rectify  it.  The  strain  was  growing 
intolerable,  when  mercifully  the  tired  mind 
gave  way  and  she  fell  asleep. 

The  first  hint    of  morning    roused   her. 
15  225 


The   Middle  Course 

She  came  to  herself  in  a  moment  with  the 
curious  instantaneous  impression  that  there 
was  someone  in  the  room.  But  it  was 
empty  of  all  bodily  presence  but  hers.  She 
rose  in  the  nipping  chill  of  the  early  morn- 
ing, threw  open  the  blinds  and  looked  out. 
It  was  the  solemn,  the  terrible  hour  of  dawn 
—dawn,  when  sins  and  sorrows  loom  large 
and  near,  and  heaven  and  hope  seem  very 
far  away.  The  garden  was  dim  and  chaotic, 
with  clumps  of  deeper  darkness  blotting  a 
sombre  background.  The  trees  were  still 
and  terrible,  just  discernible  against  a  sky 
only  less  black  than  they. 

Who  that  is  without  God  and  hope  can 
bear  to  watch  the  dawn  ?  It  is  the  hour 
when  the  heart  cries  out,  shuddering  for 
some  voice,  some  promise,  to  tell  us  that  life 
with  its  struggles  is  not  all  in  vain. 

The  neutral  tints  became  pale,  the  sky 
cleared  and  trembled  with  a  faint  luminous- 
ness,  the  shrubs  and  bushes  turned  green. 
226 


The  Lover's  Coming 

Presently  the  garden  gave  a  hint  of  color,  of 
heaps  of  pink  and  red  and  yellow  roses,  of 
masses  of  young  lilac  and  golden  laburnum. 
The  birds  twittered  and  chirped  and  whis- 
tled ;  the  air  was  resonant  with  melodic 
flutings.  The  sky  grew  blue,  the  sunbeams 
shot  up,  and  the  flowers  were  no  longer 
delicate-hued  ghosts  ;  the  world  was  a  mass 
of  color,  a  riot  of  music,  and  day  had  come. 

The  silent  watcher  crept  ^ack  to  her  pil- 
low, and  this  time  to  unbroken  sleep. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  chateau  drank  their 
morning  coffee  in  retirement,  a  breakfast 
table  being  a  thing  abhorrent  to  all  three. 
Althea  slipped  out  of  the  house  unobserved 
and  spent  the  morning  in  the  beech  woods 
on  the  edge  of  the  Ranee.  She  began  to 
understand  the  feelings  of  a  man  con- 
demned to  be  executed  ;  every  moment  of 
delay  must,  she  thought,  make  death  seem 
harder.  A  few  minutes  before  midday  she 

strolled  back  to  the  house. 

227 


The   Middle  Course 

Standing  by  the  rose-embraced  sun-dial 
were  the  Vincents  and  Clement  Moorlake. 
Much  to  her  own  surprise,  Althea  felt  no 
immediate  sensation  at  sight  of  him.  They 
shook  hands  very  quietly,  she  without  look- 
ing at  him.  The  human  heart  can  hold 
only  a  certain  amount  of  joy  or  suffering  in 
the  twenty-four-hours,  and  Althea's  power 
of  feeling  was,  for  the  time  being,  exhausted. 

11  This  is  an  unceremonious  hour  for  call- 
ing," said  Moorlake,  "  but  I  was  impatient 
to  see  you  all." 

"Clement  came  via  Paris,"  explained 
Nellie,  who  looked  far  more  unhappy  than 
Althea.  "  The  train  arrives  very  early,  you 
know." 

"  This  is  a  difficult  place  to  get  to,"  said 
Clement.  "  All  roads  are  equally  disagree- 
able." 

He  was  looking  at  Althea  ;  she  felt  the 
glance,  though  she  was  trying  to  pretend, 

like  a  child,   that  he   was  somebody  else. 

228 


The  Lover's  Coming 

She  dared  not  let  the  full  sense  of  his  pres- 
ence sink  into  her  consciousness.  Yet  she 
seemed  to  know  without  seeing  that  he  was 
worn  and  tired,  that  there  was  an  accentu- 
ation of  that  aspect  of  delicacy  which 
accorded  so  ill  with  his  great  muscular 
strength. 

Nellie  noticed  how  colorless  his  clear,  fine 
skin  had  grown  and  how  much  grayer  was 
his  hair  at  the  temples.  He,  too,  she  thought, 
had  no  doubt  had  his  battles  to  fight  ! 

"  My  mother  isatDinard/'said  Moorlake. 
"  I  saw  her  a  few  minutes  this  morning — 
met  her  accidentally,  in  fact.  I  did  not 
know  she  was  there  ;  I  thought  she  was  at 
Dinan." 

"  They  are  very  close  together,  you  know," 
said  Althea.  She  forced  her  eyes  to  meet 
Clement's,  and  saw  a  question  in  them.  He 
was  mentally  asking,  "  Have  you  seen  her  ?" 

"  Come   to  breakfast,"  said   Bertie,  who 

had  been   loitering   about   examining    the 

229 


The   Middle  Course 

roses.  "Looks  like  June,  doesn't  it?"  he 
added,  turning  to  Clement. 

"  A  lovely  climate,  apparently,"  said 
Moorlake.  "  I  always  wonder  when  I  am 
on  the  Continent  why  we  live  in  England." 

"  And  I,"  said  Nellie,  as  she  led  the  way 
to  the  breakfast-room,  "always  wonder  why 
we  ever  leave  it.  Even  the  costermongers 
seem  nice  to  me  after  the  Latin  races." 

"  Don't  be  rude,  Nellie,"  said  Moorlake. 
"  Remember  that  my  grandmamma  was 
an  Italian." 

"That's  the  only  thing  about  you  that's  not 
nice  ;  it  suggests  stilettos  and  vendettas." 

"  To  an  American  it  suggests  peanuts  and 
cheap  ice  cream,  grind-organs  and  mon- 
keys," said  Althea,  and  she  went  on  in  this 
vein  as  if  she  were  entertaining  a  man  she 
had  never  met  before. 

Clement,  after  his  racking  night  in  the 
train,  was  downright  hungry,  and  unaffect- 
edly enjoyed  his  breakfast,  eaten  from 
230 


The  Lover's  Coming 

Quimper  plates  with  big  fleurs-de-lis  on 
them  in  two  shades  of  blue.  Althea  thought 
bitterly  how  strange  it  was  that  men  could 
nearly  always  eat.  She  herself  pretended,  and 
talked  fast  enough  to  cover  the  pretense. 

It  had  been  part  of  her  plan  of  self-immo- 
lation to  take  no  extraordinary  trouble  in 
dressing  herself  that  day.  She  had  on  a 
well-worn  dark-blue  coat  and  skirt  and  a 
simple  mauve  silk  blouse.  Air  and  excite- 
ment had  given  her  a  color  of  unusual  bril- 
liancy ;  sorrow  had  a  little  sharpened  fea- 
tures already  delicate  ;  nothing  could  spoil 
the  lovely  mass  of  warm-tinted  hair  that 
owed  all  its  beauty  to  nature.  Bertie  and 
Nellie  looked  at  her  anxiously,  and  thought 
she  had  never  appeared  more  charming. 
To  them  she  was  lovely  and  lovable  ;  why 
could  not  their  friend  see  her  with  their 
eyes  ?  After  breakfast  they  all  sat  in  the 
garden,  with  their  coffee  and  cigarettes,  in  a 

spot  made  genially  warm  by  the  sunshine. 
231 


The  Middle  Course 

First  Bertie  made  some  flimsy  excuse 
and  drifted  away  ;  Nellie  talked  on  bravely, 
but  in  a  few  minutes  Bertie  called  to  her, 
"  Come,  look  at  this  rosebush  !  It's,  really 
extraordinary,"  and  she  followed  him. 

Clement  smiled  ;  even  at  that  moment, 
which  he  felt  to  be  one  of  the  most  impor- 
tant in  his  existence,  the  transparent  pretext 
amused  him.  Althea  did  not  look  at  him. 
She  was  wrapping  about  her  more  closely  a 
light  scarf  she  wore  as  protection  against 
the  Spring  wind.  There  was  only  a  min- 
ute of  silence.  Then  Moorlake  said, 
bluntly  : 

"  Have  you  seen  my  mother  ?  " 

The  suddenness  of  the  question  startled 
Althea  ;  and  he  saw  that  she  was  embar- 
rassed. 

"  Are  you  under  oath  not  to  divulge  her 
visit?"  asked  Clement,  "  for  I  feel  sure  that 
she  has  been  here." 

"  I   have   taken   no   oaths,"  said   Althea. 

232 


The  Lover's  Coming 

"  I  never  will.  I  think  they  are  unwise  and 
dangerous." 

"  No  vows,  either  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a 
curious  light  in  his  eyes  which  she  had 
never  seen  there,  which  made  her  realize 
that  Moorlake,  without  his  rigid  sense  of 
duty,  might  be  a  very  dangerous  man  who 
would  enjoy  being  dangerous. 

"  Nor  vows,  either,"  she  said,  firmly. 

11  Perhaps  I  shall  induce  you  to  break 
your  vow  not  to  make  vows,"  he  said,  with 
a  deep,  liquid  note  in  his  usually  cold  voice. 

At  that  moment  he  felt  very  human  ;  the 
past  seemed  less  alive  than  usual,  and  the 
future  more  vaguely  desirable. 

Althea  felt  the  change  in  his  mood,  and 
steeled  herself  against  it. 

"  I  don't  think  your  mother  made  me 
promise  anything,"  she  said. 

"Then  she  was  here?" 

"  Yes  ;  since  I  am  truthful,  I  must  say  she 

was." 

233 


The  Middle  Course 

"  With  what  object  ? " 

Clement  had  thrown  away  his  cigarette 
and  was  bending  toward  her.  Intense  in- 
terest shone  in  his  eyes. 

Althea  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said, 
bravely  : 

"  In  the  interests  of  her  son." 

"  In  what  her  son  would  call  his  inter- 
ests?" 

"  I  think  so — in  the  long  run." 

"But  not  just  now?" 

"  Yes,  perhaps  just  now,  too." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Clement,  de- 
cidedly. "  But  why  must  we  talk  in  enig- 
mas ?  Are  we  strangers  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Althea.  "  I  think  we  are." 
Then,  after  a  perceptible  pause,  "  I  think 
we  always  shall  be." 

"  Why  don't  you  trust  me  ? "  he  asked, 
impetuously.  "  Why  won't  you  help  me  ? 
You  know  why  I  have  come." 

"  You  came  to  see  us — the  Vincents  and 
234 


The  Lover's  Coming 

me — because  you  needed  a  change.  Let  it 
rest  there." 

He  looked  at  her  with  astonishment. 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  came  all  this  dis- 
tance to  hear  you  give  such  an  order  as 
that  ?— or  to  obey  it  ?  " 

Althea  shivered  a  little. 

"  It  is  too  cold  here.  Shall  we  go  into 
the  house  ? "  she  asked,  rising. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said,  also  rising,  "  if  we 
can  be  alone." 

They  walked  toward  the  chateau  in  si- 
lence. He  felt  curiously  piqued  and  eager 
for  one  intimate  word  or  look.  It  seemed 
as  if  their  positions  had  suddenly  been  re- 
versed. He  knew  Althea  so  little  that  he 
believed  for  a  moment  her  manner  of  deal- 
ing with  him  was  dictated  by  coquetry  ;  but 
one  look  at  her  pale  face  and  compressed 
mouth  undeceived  him. 

They    reached    the    salon    unremarked. 

Moorlake  shut  the  door  and  stood  waiting 
235 


The  Middle  Course 

for  her  to  sit  down.  When  both  were  seated, 
he  said  :  "It  is  not  kind  of  you  to  keep 
me  at  arm's  length." 

To  this  she  had  nothing  to  answer. 

"  Surely,"  he  said,  "  we  have  much  to 
say  to  each  other.  You  may  feel  a  natural 
resentment  because  I  have  involved  you  in 
so  much  unhappiness,  but  in  spite  of  that 
you  must  know  that  I  am  your  best  friend 
— that  at  least  I  want  to  be " 

11  Please,"  she  interrupted,  "  don't  speak 
of  the  past !  It  is  more  than  I  can  bear." 

"  Then  let  me  speak  of  the  future— that 
in  which  I  beg  to  have  a  share.  Tell  me 
what  my  mother  said  to  you.  She  has 
somehow  turned  you  against  me." 

"  Your  mother  loves  you  more  than  any- 
one does — at  least  in  a  more  unselfish  way— "" 
she  hesitated  and  colored,  then  went  on  r 
"You  know  what  you  are  to  her,  how  she 
builds  on  your  future — your  career.  You 

still  have  a  long  life  before  you " 

236 


The  Lover's  Coming 

11 1  am  forty  years  old,"  said  Clement. 
"  If  I  have  done  nothing  so  far,  I  shall  never 
do  or  be  anything." 

"  But  you  have  done  something.  You 
are  a  great  sculptor  ;  everyone  says  so." 

"You  mean  my  mother  says  so."  He 
made  the  amendment  smiling. 

"  You  are  going  to  be  an  R.  A.,"  she  said, 
also  smiling,  but  with  some  bitterness.  "  If 
you  do  nothing  wrong  or  bohemian  or  un- 
canonical  you  are  going  to  be  one  of  the 
Forty." 

A  sudden  illumination  came  into  his  face. 

"  That  is  what  my  mother  said  to  you  !  " 
he  exclaimed.  "  I  understand."  He  looked 
both  amused  and  vexed.  Loyalty  and  an- 
noyance struggled  within  him.  -' 

"  You  must  forgive  her,  Althea."  She 
winced  at  the  sweetness  of  hearing  him 
pronounce  her  name.  "  Remember  that 
she  is  the  one  person  to  whom  I  am  a 

heaven-born  genius.    She  has  lived  only  for 

237 


The  Middle  Course 

me  all  these  years,  while  I  have  been  making 
statues  until  I've  almost  become  a  statue 
myself.  A  hard  medium  of  expression— 
and  you  hate  sculpture  ;  you  told  me  so 
when  we  first  met." 

Althea  breathed  freely.  He  was  unbend- 
ing, he  was  becoming  a  human  being  with 
whom  she  might  talk  humanly,  who  could 
in  time,  perhaps,  open  his  soul  to  her — that 
part  of  it  at  least  which  did  not  contain  the 
mysterious  Other  Woman. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  impulsively, 
leaning  forward,  "now,  for  the  first  time 
in  ever  so  long,  I  feel  that  we  are  friends  ! 
I  am  so  glad,  because  I  had  come  to  feel  a 
sort  of  terror  of  you,  as  of  something  strange 
and  unreal  and  icy  !  The  thought  of  you 
was  dreadful  to  me." 

"  My  poor  child  !  "  he  said.  "  I  have 
been  but  a  bad  friend  to  you.  But  I  will 
atone— if  you  will  let  me." 

They  were   not  far  apart.    He  stretched 
238 


The  Lover's  Coming 

out  his  hand— warm,  appealing,  consolatory 
— and  gently  took  her  cold  one. 

She  made  a  quick  movement. 

<(  Oh,  please  don't  touch  me  !  "  she  cried, 
with  a  sharp  accent  of  pain. 

In  a  moment  he  understood  her — how  she 
was  bracing  herself  to  withstand  him,  steel- 
ing her  heart  against  him,  fighting  $own  her 
love  for  him,  smothering  and  crushing  the 
passionate  craving  for  his  affection  which 
had  well-nigh  killed  her  during  all  the  time 
of  her  great  trouble.  And  once  again,  as  so 
often  before,  he  longed  to  give  her  his  whole 
heart  and  life  and  soul  without  reservation. 

"  Have  I  been  presumptuous  ?"  he  said, 
softly,  still  lightly  holding  her  hand. 
"  Won't  you  give  me  the  right  to  care  for 
you  ?  You  are  free  now,  Althea." 

"  No,  Clement,  I  shall  never  be  free,"  she 
said,  with  passionate  sadness.  "  I  am  a  dis- 
honored woman ;  all  the  venal  laws  in 

America   cannot    make  me  free.    Nothing 
239 


The  Middle  Course 

can  right  me  now — not  even  if  there  were  a 
man  who  loved  me." 

"  '  If,'  Althea  ?  There  is  no  '  if.'  There 
is  a  man  who  loves  you,  who  will  try  to 
make  up  to  you  for  what  you  have  lost." 

"  Ah,  Clement,  don't  tempt  me  !  A  woman 
who  loves  as  I  do  is  easily  tempted  !  But 
she  is  not  easily  satisfied.  Even  if  I  were 
really  free,  I  would  never,  never — "  She 
paused  in  distress  before  the  word. 

"Never  marry  me,  Althea  ?  Why  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  There  are  so  many  good  reasons— so 
many,  and  you  know  them  all,"  she  said. 

"  You  are  thinking  about  the  legality  of 
it,  aren't  you  ?  We  could  go  away— we  need 
not  live  in  England,  where  people  are  old- 
fashioned  and  narrow-minded.  Is  a  woman, 
an  innocent,  unhappy  woman,  to  go  solitary 
all  her  days  because  a  brute  has  deserted 
her  ?  That  reason  is  soon  disposed  of." 

"  There  is  another  reason,  Clement,"  she 

240 


The  Lover's  Coming 

said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  I  need  not  remind 
you  of  it." 

He  stiffened  suddenly.  "  You  mean,"  he 
said,  "  the  other — because " 

"  Because  you  do  not  love  me." 

She  spoke  very  firmly  and  with  immeasur- 
able sadness. 

He  paused  and  looked  at  her  squarely. 
"  Althea,  it  is  five  years  since  I  saw  the  per- 
son of  whom  you  are  thinking.  She  has 
been  married  for  some  time." 

"  But  you  love  her,  Clement,  and  only  her. 
You  have  never  deceived  me.  How  could  I 
care  for  you  as  I  do  if  you  had  ?  You  would 
not  be  the  man  I  love  if  you  could  lie  to  me." 

He  was  confounded  and  knew  not  what 
to  answer. 

"Do  you  think,"  she  said,  with  sup- 
pressed passion,  "  that  I  could  be  your  wife 
and  know  that  your  heart  and  soul  belong  to 
that  other  woman  ?  Could  I  take  your  kind 

pity  for  me — your   liking,  even  your   affec- 
16  241 


The  Middle  Course 

tion — when  what  you  and  I  know  to  be  love 
is  wanting  ?  I  could  not  share  you  with 
another  woman,  Clement  !  Better  that 
you  should  be  unattainable  as  the  stars  !  I 
could  still  think  of  you — still  love  you  as 
the  worthiest  man  I  have  ever  known — but 
marry  you,  no  !  Ah,  no,  it  would  be  ter- 
rible !  I  believe  you  know — I  know  now — 
that  there  is  no  middle  course,  no  happiness 
in  being  second  best." 

Clement  was  still  silent.  This  last  revela- 
tion of  Althea's  character  showed  him  what 
she  was — what  sort  of  woman  he  might  have 
loved  if  the  phantom  of  the  past  had  not 
been  between  them. 

"  This  must  be  the  end — really  the  end," 
she  went  on.  "  We  must  not  meet  any 
more.  I  do  not  say  that  I  shall  try  to  forget 
you,  for  the  memory  of  you  will  be  my 
dearest  possession  ;  but  I  shall  try  to  avoid 
ever  seeing  you  again.  I  don't  think  I  even 

want  your  picture— I   could  not  bear  it.     I 
242 


The  Lover's  Coming 

have  hurt  you,  troubled  you  dreadfully  in 
dragging  you  into  my  pitiful  life,  where  you 
should  never  have  come  ;  but  you  forgive 
me — I  know  you  do." 

Her  wide,  pleading  eyes  gazed  straight 
into  his.  He  sat  in  a  tense,  strained  attitude, 
with  the  look  she  had  learned  to  know  so 
well — his  brows  bent,  his  dark  eyes — like 
those  of  no  other  man — shining  with  strange 
lights. 

"  Never  speak  of  forgiveness,  Althea,"  he 
said.  "  My  one  wish  is  to  atone — to  make 
reparation — to  bring  you  some  happiness,  if 
you  will  only  let  me.  Althea,  I  swear 
that  I  love  you  !  You  are  the  only  woman 
I  would  marry.  Will  you  not  risk  it  ?  Who 
could  help  loving  you  ?  I  never  knew  you 
till  to-day,  and  I  know  that  no  man  could 
be  indifferent  to  you." 

A  sudden  wave  of  hope  passed  over  her  ; 
her  body  tingled  with  the  glow  of  leaping 
blood. 

243 


The  Middle  Course 

11  Clement !  "  she  said,  "  if  you  can  tell 
me  on  your  honor  that  I  am  dearer  to  you 
than  the  other  woman  .  .  ." 

His  face  changed.  He  stood  up  and 
walked  to  the  window.  She  sat  with  her 
hands  clenched,  waiting.  The  birds  sang 
in  the  garden.  All  life — its  pain,  its  joy,  its 
hope,  its  disappointment — was  in  that  min- 
ute while  the  birds  sang.  To  the  man  at  the 
window  death  would  have  been  less  bitter. 
When  he  turned  Althea  knew  that  the  hope 
and  the  joy  were  over,  that  only  the  pain  and 
the  disappointment  were  left. 

"  I  know  the  answer,"  she  said,  very 
gently.  "  Don't  grieve  over  it,  Clement  ;  it 
is  better  so." 

Moorlake  was  a  strong  man  ;  he  had 
never  cried  in  his  life,  but  his  heart  wept 
then. 


244 


CHAPTER    XV 

i- , 

DISILLUSION 

MOORLAKE  returned  to  London,  but  one 
sunny  morning  in  early  August  found  him 
on  the  beach  at  Dinard.  He  could  hardly 
have  explained  why  he  was  there.  He  was 
subject  once  in  every  few  years  to  fits  of 
atrophied  will— periods  of  involition  during 
which  half  of  his  nature  hurried  him  into 
actions  deeply  condemned  by  the  other  half. 
And  at  one  of  these  times  he  came  to  Dinard. 

He  had  heard  nothing  from  the  Vincents 
or  from  Althea.  Life  seemed  perfectly  taste- 
less and  uninteresting.  He  felt  the  lassitude 
left  by  a  long,  hot  London  season,  in  which 
his  part  had  been  played  even  more  per- 
functorily than  usual.  But  much  of  his  sad- 
ness, which  was  chronic  and  constitutional, 
245 


The  Middle  Course 

was  temporarily  banished  by  the  scene  about 
him. 

It  was  the  hour  when  the  smart  world  of 
Dinard  is  wont  to  plunge  into  the  gentle 
waves  and  wash  away  some  of  the  weariness 
caused  by  all-night  baccarat,  prefaced  by 
dancing.  Many  bathed,  but  more  looked 
on.  The  sands,  clean  and  glittering,  were 
covered  with  chairs,  the  chairs  with  lovely 
ladies,  and  the  lovely  ladies  with  fresh,  light 
gowns.  There  were  very  few  painted  faces 
and  dyed  heads  ;  even  the  most  charming 
had  that  seal  of  respectability  which  in  the 
eyes  of  the  well-conducted  adds  a  charm  to 
beauty.  There  was  the  usual  sprinkling  of 
rackety  August  visitors  who  change  Dinard 
from  a  staid  residential  town,  conquered  by 
Anglo-Saxons,  into  a  vortex  of  baccarat, 
cocktails,  flirtations,  picnics  and  balls.  Then 
it  is  that  men  have  been  known  to  drink 
yellow  chartreuse  out  of  wine  glasses  at  the 

club  in  the  morning,  and  mothers  of  families 
246 


Disillusion 

sit  with  greedy  eyes  fixed  on  the  "little 
horses  "  as  they  run  along,  winning — for  the 
bank.  Then  it  is  that  there  is  time  for  noth- 
ing but  enjoyment — when  one  sits  of  an 
afternoon  opposite  the  Casino,  at  the  pastry 
cook's — where  the  cakes  are  guaranteed  to 
add  a  stone  to  one's  weight  in  six  weeks — 
when  one  curses,  if  one  is  an  Anglo-Saxon, 
between  sips  of  Ceylon  tea,  the  truly  Gallic 
cruelty  of  the  stupid  Breton  cockers  who 
congregate  in  that  quarter — a  vile  blot  on 
the  loveliness  of  the  place. 

There  is  an  amusement  for  every  hour 
and  for  every  minute  a  fresh  subject  of  gos- 
sip —  dear,  delightful,  diverting  gossip — 
which  leaves  "  not  even  Lancelot  brave,  nor 
Galahad  clean." 

Moorlake's  sober  face  was  out  of  place  on 
the  plage,  and  many  a  woman  thought  how 
pleasant  it  would  be  to  call  a  smile  to  it. 
The  morning  was  made  for  happiness  ;  it 

was  neither  cold  nor  hot ;  the  air  was  light 

247 


The   Middle  Course 

and   exhilarating,  with  a  tang  of  salt  in  its 
softness. 

Clement  saw  a  chair  standing  somewhat 
apart  from  the  others,  and  appropriated  it. 
-There  were  a  good  many  people  in  the 
j  water,  but  none  wore  the  extraordinary  cos- 
tumes in  vogue  at  other  French  watering- 
places.  Few  dresses  were  coquettish,  or  even 
becoming.  Presently  a  tall  figure  waded 
ashore.  It  was  a  woman  who  had  been 
swimming.  She  was  dressed  in  pale  blue, 
and  her  head  was  covered  by  a  blue  silk 
handkerchief  with  great  ends  standing  up  on 
top.  She  was  accompanied  by  several  men, 
and  passed  quite  close  to  Moorlake  on  the 
way  to  her  cabin.  For  an  instant  he  saw 
her  in  profile,  and  was  conscious  of  a  sudden 
shock.  He  turned  and  watched  her  retreat- 
ing figure — a  very  good  one,  even  in  its  un- 
disguised state.  He  saw  her  enter  the  cabin, 
after  a  few  chaffing  words  with  her  escort  at 

the   door ;  noted   the  number,  and  sat  for 
248 


Disillusion 

three-quarters  of  an  hour  facing  it,  waiting 
for  her  to  come  out. 

At  last,  after  several  excursions  of  her 
maid,  fetching  and  carrying  between  the 
cabin  and  some  unknown  point,  the  lady 
opened  the  door,  put  out  a  well-shod  footy 
and  stepped  forth  on  the  beach.  No  wonder 
it  had  taken  forty-five  minutes  to  make  her 
what  she  was.  She  was  dressed  in  the  fash- 
ion of  the  day-after-to-morrow — for  which 
she  did  not  mean  to  pay  till  the  day  after 
that.  To  look  at  her  was  to  realize  the  actual 
existence  of  all  those  mysterious  French 
words  found  even  in  the  least  French  of 
fashion  papers — tabliers,  applique,  revers — to 
say  nothing  of  incrustations,  pipings,  accor- 
deon  pleatings  and  other  things  to  be  found 
in  England.  The  gown  was  a  marvelous 
collection  of  materials,  so  cunningly  con- 
structed that  a  man  who  was  not  in  the  busi- 
ness would  have  called  it  "simple,"  thus  prov- 
ing himself  the  same.  The  figure  inside 
249 


The   Middle  Course 

the  gown  was  all  that  comparative  youth,  con- 
scientious exercise  and  four-guinea  stays 
could  make  it.  The  lady's  hat  was  a  wide- 
brimmed  "  confection "  of  big  pink  roses, 
with  yards  of  tulle  that  did  wonderful  things 
all  round  them,  and  finally  wound  itself 
about  the  wearer's  throat.  The  face  under 
the  hat  was  charmingly  tinted — by  what  did 
not  yet  appear — and  had  straight  features 
and  hard  blue  eyes.  The  hair  was  the  color 
of  gilt,  with  even  waves  that  looked  as  if 
they  were  cut  out  of  brass,  from  the  nape 
of  the  long  neck  to  the  place  where  they  met 
the  back  of  the  hat. 

Moorlake  sat  on  his  chair  and  looked  at 
the  lady.  He  could  not  have  catalogued  her 
like  the  cold  narrator.  He  only  knew  that 
she  was  the  woman  he  had  loved  for  fifteen 
years. 

She  came  over  the  sands  directly  toward 
him.  He  rose. 

"  I  can't  be   mistaken,"  she    began,   in  a 
250 


Disillusion 

hard,  clear  voice  ;  "  you  are  surely  Clement 
Moorlake  ? " 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted,  "  I  am." 

"  You  don't  know  me  ?  It  is  so  long  since 
we  met.  To  think  of  your  being  here  !  It's 
delightful.  Do  you  know  me  ?" 

She  smiled  as  she  asked  the  question. 

Moorlake  paused  before  answering.  He 
was  visibly  disturbed. 

"  You  must  be— I  am  sure  you  are — Lady 
Bembridge." 

"  I  am  Hyacinth  to  you,  Clement,  or 
1  Cinthy,'  it  used  to  be,  didn't  it  ?  " 

She  laughed  lightly. 

Moorlake  winced.  "  That  was  a  long 
time  ago,"  he  said,  stiffly. 

"  But  how  well  you  wear !  No  dye,  no 
make-up  !  That  gray  above  the  temples  is 
the  finishing  touch  to  your  fascination. 
Don't  you  remember,  I  always  told  you  that 
you  would  grow  handsomer  with  age  ?  I 

was  a  true  prophet." 

251 


The   Middle  Course 

Lady  Bembridge  regarded  him  with  un- 
disguised interest.  Clement  looked  square- 
ly into  her  hard  eyes. 

11  Is  Lord  Bembridge  here  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  how  like  you !  "  cried  Hyacinth. 
"  First  of  all  the  proprieties  !  You  have 
changed  as  little  as  your  face.  No,  Bem- 
bridge is  not  here.  We  are  like  the  little 
couple  who  foretell  the  weather — never  seen 
together,"  and  she  laughed  again.  "  We  do 
not  pose  any  more.  Now  ask  me  if  I  have 
any  children." 

"  Have  you  ?"  and  Clement  managed  to 
smile  a  little. 

"  None  ;  it's  a  disappointment  to  my  hus- 
band, as  he  hates  the  next  heir,  but  I  don't 
approve  of  them.  Children  spoil  a  woman's 
career." 

"That  depends  on  what  sort  of  career 
it  is." 

11  Mine   is   a    sort   of  '  Rake's   Progress.' 

Don't  look  shocked — only  ugly  men  should 

252 


Disillusion 

ever  look  shocked,  for  then  nobody  would 
mind  them.  It's  quite  true,  Clement.  I 
have  every  vice  except  stinginess.  How  are 
you  getting  on  ?  Still  doing  those  great, 
lumpy  statues  ?  Have  you  made  a  fortune  ? 
If  you  have  you  must  lend  me  something, 
for  I  ruined  myself  last  night  at  the  Casino."" 

"  My  letter  of  credit  is  at  your  disposal," 
said  Moorlake,  gravely. 

"  How  solemn  you  are  !  It  is  really  toa 
nice  to  see  you  again  !  Where  are  you 
stopping  ? " 

Moorlake  named  his  hotel. 

"I  am  breakfasting  at  the  Terrasses,  and 
doing  things  all  day  ;  but  you  must  come 
to  the  Casino  to-night,  won't  you  ? " 

"  I  neither  dance  nor  gamble." 

"  No,  but  you  can  talk — and  listen.  Do- 
come  !  I  want  to  see  you  so  much  !  " 

"  Is  it  really  pleasant  to  you  to  see  me  ? "" 

"  Of   course  !     Why  not  ?     One  outlives 

everything — except  one's  appetite.     I  am  so 
253 


The    Middle  Course 

hungry  !  Oh,  there's  Dolkovski  at  last. 
You're  late,  Prince.  The  Marchants  eat  at 
half-past  twelve." 

One  of  the  escort  had  approached,  a  big 
Russian  with  a  Romanoff  look  about  him. 

"  They  will  not  eat  at  that  time  to-day," 
he  observed,  with  a  heavy  smile. 

Then  he  looked  at  Clement  disapprov- 
ingly. 

u  This  is  an  old  friend,  Mr.  Moorlake. 
But  he  doesn't  like  Russian  princes.  He 
reads  Ouida,  and  knows  they  are  all  desper- 
ate characters.  Come  along,  Dolly.  To- 
night, Clement,  about  nine-thirty,"  and  she 
walked  away  with  her  prince. 

The  day  passed  to  Moorlake  like  a  con- 
fused dream.  He  tried  to  join  the  new  rev- 
elation to  the  old  conception.  A  disease 
of  fifteen  years'  standing  is  not  to  be  cured 
by  one  dose  of  medicine,  no  matter  how 
strong  the  drug  may  be.  He  shrank  from  a 

repetition  of  the  dose,  but  he  knew  that  he 

254 


Disillusion 

must  swallow  it.  And  so,  after  hours  of 
walking,  with  unseeing  eyes  fixed  on  the  fine 
landscape,  he  returned  to  dress,  dine  and 
meet  Hyacinth  Bembridge  at  the  Casino. 

It  was  easy  to  distinguish  her  among  the 
other  women  ;  her  superior  stature  and  the 
pronounced  style  of  her  gown  attracted 
everyone's  attention.  She  glittered  from 
throat  to  feet  with  steel  sequins,  and  round 
her  neck,  looped  up  to  her  breast  with  dia- 
monds and  falling  loose  again,  was  a  rope 
of  great  pearls.  There  was  a  group  of  men 
about  her,  but  no  women.  One  man  was  a 
French  count — the  sort  of  thing  France 
makes  badly  since  the  Republic — a  weak, 
stooping,  livid  young  creature  with  a  prepos- 
terous nose,  no  chin  to  speak  of,  and  a  red 
orchid  in  his  coat.  Another  was  a  clean- 
limbed, well-washed  Englishman,  who  could 
not  go  back  to  England  owing  to  pecuniary 
misunderstandings.  A  third  was  an  elderly 

man  with  a  magenta  face  and  a  bottle-nose — 
255 


The  Middle  Course 

one  of  the  props  of  the  chartreuse  industry 
— and  the  fourth  was  the  Russian  prince. 

Moorlake  hesitated  a  moment,  then  walked 
up  to  the  group  and  bowed  to  Lady  Bern- 
bridge. 

"  Oh,  you  did  come !  So  glad.  Come  out- 
side ;  it's  stuffy  here.  Go  and  dance,  Dolly  ! 
Madame  de  Ternon  is  looking  for  you." 

The  Russian  glowered,  and  the  little  count 
sighed  as  he  surveyed  Moorlake's  inches. 

14  Ces  anglais,  ces  anglais  ! "  he  murmured 

"You  should  make  them  get  out,"  said 
Dolkovski,  sulkily.  "  They  think  they  own 
the  place.' 

"  Mon  cher,  I  am  English  !  "  observed  the 
magenta  man,  reprovingly. 

"  Pardon  !  I  forgot.  You  don't  look  it," 
retorted  the  prince,  with  double  spite. 

"  And  I,"  said  the  other  Englishman. 

"  Ah,  but  one  doesn't  think  of  you  as  an 
Englishman  ;  you  can't  stand  the  climate  !  " 

Hyacinth  drew  Moorlake  toward  the  un- 

256 


Disillusion 

lighted  end  of  the  veranda.  The  moon  was 
full  and  the  tide  so  high  that  a  short  time 
before  it  had  dashed  against  the  stones  at 
the  base  of  the  Casino. 

"  This  is  the  flirtation  corner,"  said  Hya- 
cinth, "  but  as  you  don't  know  how  to  flirt, 
it's  wasted  on  you.  I'm  glad  there's  a  moon, 
for  people  will  see  you,  and  I  shall  like  them 
to.  I'm  awfully  tired  of  the  men,  particu- 
larly Dolkovski.  He's  not  amusing." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  glittering 
like  a  moonbeam,  fingering  her  pearls. 

"  Aren't  these  nice  !  "  she  went  on.  "  I 
have  wanted  them  for  years.  One  would 
do  anything  for  a  rope  of  pearls  !  Solomon, 
who  knew  so  much,  said  that  the  price  of  a 
virtuous  woman  was  above  rubies  ;  you  see, 
he  meant  pearls  !  " 

"  A  new  interpretation  of  Scripture,"  said 
Moorlake,  dryly.  He  was  mentally  trying 
to  peel  away  this  present  picture  of  her,  as 

one  might   scrape   a  palimpsest   to   get   a 

17  257 


The   Middle  Course 

glimpse  at  the  old  meaning  beneath  the 
accretions  of  time. 

"  How  do  you  like  Dinard  ? "  Hyacinth 
rattled  on.  "  They  say  Zola  is  coming  to 
write  up  the  smells.  I  felt  inspired  to- 
night as  I  came  along  the  street  to  make  a 
poem  called  '  Moonlight  on  the  Drain/ 
Wouldn't  it  be  a  choice  subject  ?  You  see, 
the  French  hate  us,  and  try  to  kill  us  with 
drains — or  want  of  them.  But  we  come,  all 
the  same,  and  bring  Condy's  Fluid.  Isn't 
it  pretty  here  ? " 

Clement  thought  her  ill  at  ease,  in  spite 
of  her  hard  eyes. 

11  Which  question  must  I  answer  first  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  so  serious.  Tell  me  about 
yourself." 

"  I  am  more  serious  than  ever  when  I  talk 
about  myself,  and  I  dislike  doing  it." 

"  How  little  changed  you  are  !  " 

For  the  first  time  her  voice  was  free  from 

mockery,  and  she  sighed. 

258 


Disillusion 

"  I  am  more  changed  than  I  thought  or 
knew,"  he  said. 

"  How  solemn  your  eyes  are,  Clement  ! 
I  believe  it  was  those  eyes  that  frightened 

me  away Sometimes  I  think  I 

should  like  to  pretend  that  we  are  young 
again,  and  that  we  love  each  other." 

"  That  /love  you,"  he  corrected.  "You 
never  cared  for  me." 

"Yes,  I  did — in  a  way.  I  loved  your 
beauty  and  your  strength.  Do  you  remem- 
ber when  you  stopped  my  horse  that  was 
running  away,  and  saved  my  life — for 
this?" 

She  shivered  a  little  and  drew  her  violet 
chiffon  wrap  about  her.  The  gesture  re- 
called that  of  Althea  months  before  in  the 
garden,  and  the  thought  of  Althea  struck 
warm  on  his  heart. 

"  Why  did  you  promise  to  marry  me, 
Hyacinth,  and  then  try  to  break  my  heart  ? " 

he  asked. 

259 


The   Middle  Course 

"Why?  Who  knows?  Why  do  I  do 
anything  ?  My  life  is  a  series  of  question 
marks,  and  I  haven't  been  able  to  find  the 
answers.  But  I  think  you  were  too  good — 
not  only  better  than  I  deserved,  but  too 
good  to  please  me  long." 

"  The  old  story— I  was  a  prig  !  I  sup- 
pose men  all  the  world  over  who  try  to  be- 
have like  gentlemen  are  called  prigs." 

"  There  are  so  few,  Clement  !  Since  I 
broke  with  you  I  have  hardly  known  a  man 
whom  you  would  call  a  gentleman." 

"  Not  one  in  fifteen  years  ?     Poor  thing  !  " 

"  What  is  your  definition  of  a  gentleman, 
Clement  ?  Opinions  vary  so." 

Moorlake  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  A  man,"  he  said,  presently,  "  who  tells 
the  truth  and  never  takes  advantage  of  a 
woman." 

"  And  yet,  Clement,  do  you  remember 
our  one  meeting  in  fifteen  years — in  Rome  ? 

You  tried  to  make  love  to  me  then."     She 
260 


Disillusion 

leaned  forward,  with  the  broad  moonlight 
softening  her  eyes. 

Moorlake  flushed  deeply. 

"  Hyacinth,"  he  said,  "  I've  been  five  years 
doing  penance.  I  swore  then  that  there 
should  be  no  women  in  my  life." 

"  And  you  have  kept  your  vow  ? " 

He  was  silent. 

"  You  are  sure  you  made  no  one  un- 
happy ?  .  .  .  No  answer  ?  Never  mind  ; 
don't  tell  me.  You  aim  too  high.  You  see, 
/  am  contented  with  very  small  triumphs  in 
the  realm  of  aspiration." 

"  Don't  be  so  bitter  about  yourself,"  he 
said.  "  It  hurts  me  to  hear  it.  Why  do 
you  lead  this  life  of  which  you  complain  ?  " 

"  Because  I  love  excitement,  because  I 
must  have  money." 

He  glanced  instinctively  at  the  pearls  she 
was  fingering. 

"  Ah,  those,"  she  said,  "  were  a  present. 

I  have  nothing  to  live  for  except  amuse- 
261 


The   Middle  Course 

ment,  and  I  don't  believe  in  a  future  life — 
so  why  pretend  ?  I  am  hopelessly  estranged 
from  Bembridge.  We  seldom  meet.  Life 
without  movement,  amusement,  pretty 
gowns  and  pleasant  places  and  nice  things 
to  eat  would  be  worse  than  death  to  me." 

"  And  the  other  things  for  which  women 
care — honest  love,  a  good  name,  respect  and 
consideration  in  society  ? " 

"  Are  deadly  dull  and  awfully  overrated. 
I  am  going  away  from  this  place.  There 
are  lots  of  the  virtuous,  hardworking,  pains- 
taking matrons  whom  you  admire,  here,  and 
they  look  askance  at  me.  Not  all,  for  I'm 
still  a  countess  !  but  there  are  enough 
shocked  faces  to  annoy  me.  I  shall  go  to 
some  place  where  the  people  are  all  French. 
After  all,  they  are  the  only  ones  who  can 
cook  and  who  know  how  to  wear  their 
clothes,  and  I  shall  be  happy." 

Moorlake  was  pale  with  disgust. 

"  Happy  ? "  he  repeated. 
262 


Disillusion 

"  Well,  gay  !  That's  the  nearest  approach 
to  happiness." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  sound  of 
the  waltz  drifted  out,  and  stray  couples 
came  up  to  the  corner,  then,  seeing  Hya- 
cinth and  Moorlake,  moved  away. 

"  What  are  you  thinking,  Clement  ?"  she 
asked  at  last. 

"I  am  thinking  that  I  am  glad  I  did  not 
kill  myself  fifteen  years  ago,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  Take  me  back,  please  ;  I  want  to  dance," 
she  said  rising. 

Once  in  the  room  she  turned  a  hard  face 
to  him. 

11  Are  you  going  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  Good-night— and 
good-bye." 

He  was  glad  to  be  alone.  Fifteen  years 
had  been  suddenly  sponged  off  the  slate  of 
life.  He  was  free — free  to  love  the  woman 
who  loved  him — free  to  tell  her  so. 

Early  morning  found  him  at  the  chateau. 
263 


The   Middle  Course 

Before  Nellie  Vincent  had  fairly  entered 
the  room  where  he  waited  he  said  : 

"  Althea  !  where  is  she  ? " 

11  Clement,  you  have  come  too  late,"  she 
replied. 

"  Too  late  !  What  do  you  mean  ?  She's 
not  dead  ? " 

"  Not  dead  ;  but  yesterday  she  left  us, 
and  we  don't  know  where  she  has  gone." 


264 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN    RETREAT 

IT  had  not  been  easy  for  Althea  to  leave 
Dinard  without  the  knowledge  of  the  Vin- 
cents. 

For  weeks  her  longing  to  go  had  been 
growing.  Her  position  began  to  appear  in- 
tolerable ;  with  the  undue  sensibility  of 
overstrained  nerves,  she  felt  that  she  was 
becoming  a  burden  to  Bertie  and  Nellie,  and 
she  determined  to  be  so  no  longer.  She 
was  possessed,  moreover,  by  the  haunting 
fear  that  Clement  would  not  accept  her  re- 
fusal as  final,  and  the  thought  of  having  to 
undergo  a  second  ordeal  spurred  on  her 
resolution  to  disappear. 

One  day,  when  the  Vincents  had  gone  to 

Dinan,   she  induced  the   gardener  at   the 
265 


The   Middle  Course 

chateau  to  harness  a  cart  and  drive  her  and 
her  boxes  over  to  Dinard.  The  boat,  which 
left  at  dusk,  was  not  crowded,  and  she 
easily  secured  a  berth. 

When  Nellie  returned  she  found  only 
these  few  lines  awaiting  her  : 

Forgive  me,  dear — both  of  you — my  kind,  good  friends. 
I  am  going  away  for  a  time.  Do  not  try  to  find  me. 
Some  day  I  will  write  to  you,  or  come.  I  have  worn  out 
your  patience,  and  you  must  have  rest.  How  I  thank  you 
I  need  not  say. 

ALTHEA. 

Nellie's  grief  and  alarm  were  little  short 
of  frantic  ;  and  meanwhile  Althea  lay  in  the 
cabin  of  the  little  steamer,  on  the  way  to 
England. 

It  was  a  long  night ;  she  was  stark  awake 
— her  eyes  would  not  stay  shut.  Her  mind 
was  almost  a  blank.  She  had  come  to  that 
stage  where  there  seems  neither  hope  nor 
fear ;  where  thought  and  reasoning  faculty 

are  alike  overpowered  by  a  curious  lethargy. 
266 


In  Retreat 

Without  such  seasons  of  mental  supineness 
the  nervous  and  overstrained  must  perforce 
become  the  insane. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  night,  before  the 
few  passengers  settled  down  to  rest,  two 
ladies  near  Althea  were  talking  in  low  tones. 
Althea  listened  mechanically. 

"  It  is  a  very  pretty  place,"  said  one,  "  and 
quite  cheap  ;  four  miles  from  Arundel — a 
jolly  old  farmhouse  with  a  thatched  roof  and 
ivy  ;  quite  a  place  to  lose  one's  self  in." 

The  last  phrase  interested  Althea  acutely. 

"I  often  think,"  said  the  other  woman, 
"how  easy  it  would  be  to  hide  in  such  a 
place.  That  part  of  the  world  is  very  primi- 
tive, though  it's  only  about  two  hours  from 
town." 

Althea  listened  still  more  intently. 

"  What's  the  address  ?  I  might  take  the 
children  there  for  Easter." 

"  Kennerton  Farm,   Bury,  Sussex.     You 

go  from  Victoria." 

267 


The   Middle  Course 

Then  the  conversation  languished,  and 
the  ladies  slept. 

To  Althea  what  she  had  heard  seemed 
providential — if  anything  could  seem  prov- 
idential ever  again.  It  was  the  voice  of  fate, 
perhaps,  at  last  giving  her  a  hint  as  to  what 
she  should  do — not  leaving  her  to  flounder 
helplessly  in  the  bog  of  circumstance.  So 
at  least  she  chose  to  consider  it. 

Morning  found  her  in  England — dear 
England,  where  one  wanted  to  shake  hands 
with  the  very  dockmen  and  policemen  after 
a  sojourn  in  France.  Even  the  Hampshire 
accent  of  the  Southampton  natives  was  not 
unpleasing  after  broad,  boorish  Breton. 

At  Waterloo  Althea  breakfasted  on  the  hay 
tea  and  sawdust  bread  made  exclusively  for 
the  railway  station  "refreshment "  contractors. 
Then  she  went  to  Victoria  and  took  a  ticket 
for  Bury — or  rather  for  the  nearest  town,  for 
she  found  on  inquiry  that  the  railway  did  not 

touch  Bury  itself. 

268 


In  Retreat 

August  shed  its  golden  glory  over  the  land. 
The  fields  basked  in  the  sunlight ;  the  trees 
had  lost  their  freshness  and  showed  yellow 
in  places.  Here  and  there  were  cottages 
covered  with  deep  purple  clematis  and  late 
Gloire  de  Dijon  roses.  Althea  dozed  un- 
easily in  her  third-class  carriage  and  heeded 
the  landscape  not  at  all. 

August  is  the  month  when,  if  a  man  have 
a  spot  of  earth  with  a  wall  around  it,  he  does 
well  to  enter  in  and  lock  the  gate  ;  a  month 
when  everyone  who  is  anywhere  pants  to  be 
somewhere  else.  Sussex  appeared  to  be  full 
of  people  engaged  in  this  puss-in-the-corner 
game.  The  whole  population  of  England 
was  changing  ;  only,  as  everyone  left  his 
home  and  went  to  that  of  someone  else,  ex- 
change was  no  robbery,  and  each  place  re- 
mained full. 

The  premier  Duke  of  England,  who  owns 
most  of  the  land  and  houses  in  and  about 

Arundel,  does  not  encourage   newcomers  ; 
269 


The   Middle  Course 

hence  the  region  thereabouts  is  not  too 
thickly  populated  to  be  charming.  It  is  a 
noble  country  of  great,  rolling  downs  spat- 
tered with  beech  woods.  In  the  Spring  one 
may  walk  miles  there  and  never  be  out  of 
earshot  of  the  skylarks.  The  blue  air  is 
drenched  with  their  melody,  and  the  plain- 
tive cry  of  new-born  lambs — that  most  pa- 
thetic of  all  sounds — ascends  ceaselessly  from 
the  sheepfolds. 

Bury  is  a  hamlet  whose  beauty  has  no 
jarring  note,  except  the  one  shop  where 
most  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  and  a  few  of 
its  superfluities,  are  to  be  bought.  The  na- 
tives have  not  yet  quite  discarded  the  smock 
frock  ;  there  are  farmers  who  are  proud  of 
being  farmers,  and  one  or  two  are  lucky 
enough  to  have  daughters  who  don't  play  the 
piano. 

The  farmer  at  Kennerton  was  one  of  these 
happy  ones.  Althea  reached  his  door  on 

foot,  as  she  could  find  no  trap  at  the  station. 
270 


In  Retreat 

She  had  flagged  miserably  on  the  way  and 
looked  plaintively  at  the  cyclists  who  spun 
past  her  in  the  dust,  bowed  over  their  wheels 
as  if  bent  on  developing  a  curvature  as  soon 
as  possible. 

The  old  house  showed  a  cool,  northern 
face  to  the  road.  There,  to  be  sure,  were 
the  thatch  and  the  ivy  of  which  the  lady  on 
the  boat  had  spoken.  The  quiet  beauty  and 
look  of  home  which  it  wore  brought  a  gush 
of  tears  to  the  homeless  one's  eyes.  By  the 
time  the  farmer's  daughter  came  to  the  door 
Althea  was  half-swooning  with  fatigue  and 
emotion. 

Miss  Burt  gave  her  one  look,  and  liked 
her. 

"Come  in,  ma'am,  and  rest.  You  had  to 
walk,  and  in  this  heat !  What  a  shame  ! 
Give  me  your  bag,"  and  she  opened  the  door 
hospitably  wide. 

"  I  am  very  tired,"  said  Althea,  keeping 

back  the  tears. 

271 


The  Middle  Course 

11  Hungry,  too,  no  doubt,"  said  Miss  Burt. 
11  Perhaps  you'd  like  something  to  eat  before 
you  try  to  talk.  This  room  is  empty.  Sit 
down." 

They  were  in  a  low-ceiled  room  with  a 
great  whitewashed  oak  beam  across  it.  The 
window  was  long  and  low,  and  lattice-paned. 
On  the  deep  sill  were  jars  of  red  roses. 

"I've  come  from  France— last  night.  I  am 
very  tired,  and  hungry  too,  I  think.  I  want 
to  take  rooms  here  if  you  have  any  vacant," 
Althea  explained. 

11  We've  just  lost  a  lodger  this  morning. 
But  I'll  speak  to  mother,  and  meanwhile  I'll 
bring  you  something.  Perhaps  you'd  like 
to  wash,  ma'am  ?  " 

After  ablutions  in  a  quaint,  uneven-floored 
room  upstairs,  hung  with  pure  white  dimity, 
Althea  descended  to  find  cold  beef,  salad,  a 
fruit  tart  and  a  jug  of  cream  set  out  on  the 
table  in  the  sitting-room. 

While   she   ate,  the   kind  young  woman 

272 


In  Retreat 

talked   things    over   with   her  mother,  and 
the  bargain  was  soon  made. 

Althea  became  a    lodger   at    Kennerton 
Farm. 


18  273 


•*"• 

~  .V- 


CHAPTER  XVII 
A  HEART'S  DESIRE 

BENEATH  the  shelter  of  the  old  box  trees, 
with  the  humming  of  the  bees  about  her 
and  the  scents  and  sounds  of  late  Summer 
stealing  in  on  her  senses,  Althea  sat  for 
many  mornings.  Her  life  passed  before  her 
like  a  dream— as,  at  the  last,  it  will  do  for 
all  of  us,  we  may  be  sure — "  a  tale  that  is 
told."  The  vision  brought  a  sense  of  final- 
ity to  her.  How  easy,  leaning  back  in  her 
low,  lounging  chair,  her  head  softly  pillowed, 
her  tired  eyes  closed,  to  slip  out  of  life  ;  to 
give  up  forever  the  ferment,  the  striving,  the 
bitterness — "the  fever  called  living!  " 

Owing  to  her  defective  early  training  she 

had  never  had  a  grip  on  life  in  its  broadest 

275 


The  Middle  Course 

sense — the  life  of  strenuous  endeavor,  of 
altruistic  impulse  that  prompts  unselfish 
deeds.  She  had  grown  one-sided — running 
to  emotion  and  not  to  action.  Such  a  woman 
is  born  to  suffer.  Life  is  not  loving  and 
dreaming. 

The  light  of  the  whole  world  dies 
When  love  is  done.  .  . 

was  true  in  the  case  of  Althea.  She  had 
moral  stamina  enough  to  hate  the  wrong 
and  love  the  right  ;  enough  even  to  refuse 
a  half-love  ;  but  she  was  too  weak  to  resist 
what  seemed  to  be  the  current  of  fate. 

She  wondered  ceaselessly  what  she  was  to 
do  next,  not  realizing  that  our  destiny  stalks 
to  meet  us,  and  that  there  is  no  hole  or  cor- 
ner of  the  earth  which  can  hide  us  from  its 
dread  eye.  And  so  it  came  to  Althea  in  the 
old  garden  under  the  box-trees,  amid  the 
booming  of  the  bees. 

One  morning  as  she  sat  there  a  step  on 

276 


A  Heart's  Desire 

the  path  made  her  raise  her  eyes,  and  she 
saw  before  her  Clarice  Hilyer. 

There  was  a  moment  of  mutual  astonished 
silence. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  exclaimed 
Althea. 

Clarice's  answer  was  ready.  "  I  came  in 
for  a  drink  of  water.  I  am  stopping  in  the 
neighborhood." 

Her  voice  was  cool  and  steady,  but  her 
color  ranged  from  red  to  pale. 

Althea  got  up  slowly.  She  was  trembling. 
The  two  faced  each  other.  It  was  no  mo- 
ment for  convention— both  felt  that  their 
naked  souls  were  confronting  each  other. 
Althea  burst  out : 

"  Why  did  you  ruin  me  ?  I  never  hurt 
you  1 " 

Clarice  stretched  out  her  hand.  "  Sit 
down,"  she  said,  "  you  are  very  pale." 

"  How    can    I    sit    with    you    standing 

there?"  answered  Althea.    She  was  ghastly, 

277 


The  Middle  Course 

and  Mrs.  Hilyer  half-expected  to  see  her 
fall. 

11  Let  us  both  sit,"  she  said  :  "  I  must  talk 
to  you." 

She  led  the  way  down  the  box  walk  to  an 
arbor  at  the  end,  cut  out  of  the  living  shrubs. 
Mechanically  Althea  followed — she  was  good 
at  following — and  they  sat  down.  They 
were  so  near  that  their  gowns  touched. 
Clarice  was  lovely,  blooming  with  health, 
irradiating  charm  ;  Althea  pale,  broken,  dis- 
ordered, and  breathing  painfully.  What 
man  would  not  have  preferred  Clarice  ?— 
yet  she  looked  at  the  other  woman  and  knew 
the  one  man  in  the  world  who  meant  any- 
thing to  her  despised  her  as  much  as  he 
honored  Althea. 

"  Listen  !  "  she  said.  "  You  hate  me,  of 
course  ;  you  say  I  ruined  you,  but  I  swear  I 
didn't  mean  to.  I  yielded  to  an  impulse — 
an  unworthy  one — and  then  the  trouble  was 

done.     I  did  not  want  to  hurt  you." 
278 


A  Heart's  Desire 

"  Since  you  did  hurt  me  it  is  all  the 
same,"  said  Althea.  "  I  would  not  harm  a 
woman — a  poor,  wretched  creature  who  is 
born  to  suffer  because  she  is  a  woman — no, 
not  for  all  the  world  could  give  me — not  to 
obtain  my  heart's  desire." 

"  Your  heart's  desire  !  "  said  the  other. 
"  Who  ever  gets  that  ?  I  wonder  what  yours 
is?" 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  said  Althea. 
"  My  heart's  desire  is  to  die  here,  quietly, 
as  I  sit,  and  be  done  with  it  all." 

Clarice  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"  If  I  felt  like  that  I  should  kill  myself," 
she  said. 

11  Ah,  I  have  not  your  courage.  You  who 
could  stab  another  woman  in  the  dark  could 
no  doubt  be  brave  enough  to  put  yourself 
out  of  the  world  !  " 

Clarice  was  perfectly  controlled. 

"  No  wonder  you  are  bitter  !  "  she  said. 

*'  You  have  a  right  to  be,  but  I  assure  you 

279 


The  Middle  Course 

again  that  I  acted  without  thought.  One 
thing  I  have  done— I  have  not  mentioned 
your  name  since  then  except  with  respect. 
I  have  killed  any  scandal  I  have  heard. 
That  much  I've  done  for  you." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Althea.  "  I 
wonder  why  you  have  done  it." 

A  sudden  rage  for  frankness  took  posses- 
sion of  Clarice— such  a  gust  of  impulse  as 
shakes  the  most  secretive  of  women  at  least 
once  in  a  lifetime.  She  turned  full  on 
Althea. 

"  Because  Moorlake  asked  me  to  protect 
you  !  "  she  said,  deliberately. 

Althea  winced.     "  Moorlake  !  "  she  said. 

"  Yes  ;  he  came  tome  and — and — "  Clarice 
colored  and  her  eyes  hardened  at  the  recol- 
lection— "  asked  me — commanded  me  in  his 
masterful  way  to  stamp  out  the  scandal." 

"  It  was  like  him,"  said  Althea,  and  her 
face  became  like  that  of  the  devotee  before 

the  shrine  of  his  patron  saint. 
280 


A  Heart's  Desire 

Clarice  saw  the  look  and  bit  her  lip. 

"  He  loves  you  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

Althea  kept  silence. 

"He  is  coming  here  to-night — at  least  to 
Lord  Parham's  where  I'm  stopping,"  Clarice 
said. 

Then  indeed  Althea's  calm  broke. 

She  half-rose,  then  sank  back  on  the 
bench. 

"  Here  !  "  she  cried ;  "  so  near  !  " 

"  I  shall  see  him  to-night,"  said  the  other. 

"  Will  you  do  me  one  favor — the  first — 
the  last — I  shall  ever  ask  of  you  ? "  panted 
Althea.  "  Do  not  tell  him  that  I  am  here  ! " 

After  all,  Clarice  was  not  a  devil,  though  a 
jealous  woman  is  first  cousin  to  one.  The 
utter  prostration,  physical  and  mental,  pic- 
tured on  her  rival's  face  struck  at  her  rem- 
nant of  a  heart. 

11  Is  it  possible,"  she  said,  "  that  you  wish 
not  to  see  him  ?  to  remain  in  hiding  ? " 

11  Oh,  yes  ;  I  must  not,  will  not  see  him  !" 
281 


The   Middle  Course 

cried  Althea.  "  I  have  left  the  Vincents 
and  tried  to  lose  myself  here.  Do,  for  God's 
sake,  help  me  !  You  have  no  reason  to  hate 
me  ;  we  are  not  rivals  at  all ;  Moorlake  is 
above  and  beyond  us  both  ;  he  is  not  for 
either  you  or  me.  Only  let  me  be  quiet ; 
perhaps  I  shall  not  trouble  anyone  long." 

Clarice  Hilyer  was  silent  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  turned  and  laid  her  hand  on 
Althea's  knee. 

"  I  am  a  wicked  woman,"  she  said,  "  and 
my  cursed  selfishness  has  ruined  you  ;  but 
I  want  you  to  believe  that  I  will  help  you  if 
I  can.  But  I  want  you  to  tell  me  one  thing. 
You  are  free  now ;  if  Clement  Moorlake 
should  ask  you  to  marry  him,  could  you  say 
no  ?" 

Enemy  as  she  had  been,  there  was  now  so 
much  pity  and  good  faith  in  Clarice's  face 
that  Althea  could  not  choose  but  answer. 
Her  pride  in  Clement's  chivalry  would  not 

let  her  be  silent.     It  was  a  small  triumph, 
282 


A  Heart's  Desire 

perhaps,  but  it  was  the  only  spot  of  light  in 
her  dark  life — the  only  hour  when  she  might 
prove  herself  a  woman  among  a  thousand. 
She  fixed  her  eyes  on  Clarice's  face. 

"I  have  already  refused  him,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Hilyer  sank  back  with  a  blank  look. 

"  Mad  woman  !  "  she  cried.  "  Refused 
Clement  Moorlake  !  Why  ?  why  ?  " 

11  We  are  telling  each  other  the  truth  to- 
day," said  Althea.  "  I  have  not  much  pride 
left  ;  I  refused  him  because  I  knew  he  loved 
another  woman." 

"  That  is  his  secret !  Ah,  I  thought  so. 
That  explains  everything.  Yet  he  would 
have  married  you  ? " 

"  Yes,  he  would  have  married  me." 

Clarice  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  then 
she  raised  it,  and  her  eyes  were  wet  and 
shining. 

"  That"  she  said,  her  voice  thrilling,  "  is 
love.  I  have  seen  it  to-day  for  the  first 

time.     All  my  life  I  have  known  things  that 
283 


The   Middle  Course 

called  themselves  love— self-seeking,  desire, 
passion,  vanity,  coquetry — but  never  the 
real  thing.  I  have  seen  men  who,  when 
they  had  got  what  they  wanted,  rode  away  ; 
women  who  added  one  conquest  to  another, 
so  that  they  might  count  them  like  beads  on 
a  devil's  rosary  !  But  to-day  I  have  found 
love.  And  it  is  too  high  for  me." 

There  was  a  great  stillness.  A  hard 
woman  had  been  brushed  by  the  shining 
wing  of  her  guardian  angel,  and  her  heart 
was  purified  by  the  touch. 

Presently  she  stretched  out  her  hand  to 
Althea. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "what  will  you  do  ? 
Have  you  money  ? " 

"  Enough." 

"  You  are  all  alone,  aren't  you  ?  Oh,  I 
wish  I  could  help  you  ! " 

"You  can — by  keeping  my  secret,  I  de- 
mand it.  I  have  the  right." 

"  Yes,  you  have  the  right.     I  will  keep  it." 
284 


A  Heart's  Desire 

Clarice  stooped  and  kissed  the  thin  hand. 
11  Mrs.  North,  will  you  forgive  me  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  I  would  not  hurt  a  hair  of  your  head," 
said  Althea. 

Clarice  rose.  "  I  honor  you,  I  respect 
you,  and  I  will  serve  you  whenever  and 
however  you  choose." 

And  so  they  parted. 

Althea  knew  that  the  time  had  come  when 
she  must  again  be  moving.  She  must  leave 
this  green  spot  of  earth  and  in  the  gray 
wilderness  of  London  streets  seek  an  invio- 
lable hiding-place. 


285 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  VAIN   SEARCH 

THE  moon — a  huge  orange-colored  August 
moon — flooded  the  old  Tudor  house  and  its 
surrounding  park. 

Lord  Parham's  guests  had  strayed  out  of 
doors  after  dinner,  wooed  by  the  gorgeous 
night.  Some  were  walking  in  the  Italian 
garden  among  quaint,  clipped  yews,  per- 
golas and  the  slim  white  statues  and  urns 
that  peeped  forth  from  masses  of  late  climb- 
ing roses.  Others  passed  through  the  little 
gate  that  led  to  the  wild  part  of  the  park. 
Among  those  were  Moorlake  and  Clarice 
Hilyer. 

He  had  discovered,  with  a  shock  of  violent 

distaste,  that  she  was  one  of  the  house  party, 
287 


The  Middle  Course 

and  had  resolved  to  leave  next  day.  He 
had  spent  the  past  week  in  unavailing  search 
for  Althea,  and  felt  unfit  enough  for  visiting  ; 
nothing  but  the  strongest  necessity  would 
have  forced  him  to  fulfil  his  engagement 
with  the  Parhams.  He  had  conscientious 
scruples  against  breaking  a  promise  if  he 
could  possibly  keep  it,  and  so  found  himself, 
weary  and  out  of  spirits,  near  the  woman 
whom  of  all  the  world  he  disliked  the  most. 

Her  behavior  had  been  perfect  ;  though 
she  sat  beside  him  at  dinner  she  talked  for 
the  most  part  with  the  man  on  the  other 
side,  who  soon  came  under  her  charm. 

Afterward,  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  that 
overlooked  the  lower  park,  covered  with 
gnarled  old  oaks  and  tall  bracken,  the  two 
met  again,  quite  by  accident. 

Clarice  felt  an  almost  uncontrollable  im- 
pulse to  tell  him  that  within  an  hour's  drive 
he  could  find  the  object  of  his  search,  for 

she  was  sure   that  he  was  seeking  Althea. 
288 


A  Vain   Search 

She  conceived  him  to  be  urged  only  by  a 
consuming  desire  to  right  the  woman  whom 
she  had  wronged  ;  but  what  she  did  not 
know  was  that  he  was  not  alone  prompted 
by  honor— that  something  a  thousand  times 
warmer,  and  not  less  noble,  was  making 
every  day's  delay  a  year  of  torment  to  him. 

Should  she  break  her  bad  promise  and 
betray  the  hiding-place  ?  Should  she  make 
Moorlake  and  Altheaa  present  of  each  other  ? 
The  eager  questioning  within  her  kept  her 
tensely  silent  as  she  stood  in  the  moonshine 
looking  over  the  enchanted  valley.  It  was 
Clement  who  spoke  first  ;  they  had  not  met 
since  the  unforgotten  interview  in  Chelsea. 

"  What  a  pity  no  one  can  paint  a  moon- 
light scene,"  he  observed. 

"  Many  people  think  they  can,"  said  Cla- 
rice. "  Do  you  know  you  have  one  fault  ?  " 
she  added. 

"  Only  one  ?"  said  Clement,  stiffly.  "  What 

has  that  to  do  with  moonlight  ?  " 
19  289 


The  Middle  Course 

"  Nothing  at  all.  But  I  could  not  help 
making  the  observation." 

11  You  are  always  very  frank  with  me. 
May  I  not  hear  what  my  fault  is  ? " 

"  You  have  heard  it  before— intense  con- 
ventionality. Just  look  at  this  situation.  A 
wild  park,  bathed  in  moonlight.  In  the 
background  a  fine  old  Tudor  mansion.  On 
one  side  in  the  distance  a  herd  of  deer,  two 
of  them  white  and  spectral  in  the  moonlight. 
An  old  church  on  the  other  side.  In  the 
foreground  an  extremely  handsome  man 
with  a  face  like  a  Lancelot  turned  Galahad  ; 
a  not  unprepossessing  woman  with  bare 
shoulders  and  a  pink  chiffon  gown.  The 
man  hates  the  woman  and  the  woman  fears 
the  man.  They  are  at  swords'  points.  And 
at  this  supreme  moment  Sir  Lancelot-Gala- 
had makes  a  remark  about  moonlight !  " 

"That  is  an  interesting  picture — very," 
said  Moorlake.  "  There  are  only  one  or 

two  flaws  in  the  description  ;  for  instance, 
290 


A  Vain    Search 

1  the  woman  fears  the  man ' — I  don't  recog- 
nize the  truth  of  that." 

"Don't  you?  And  yet  you  have  great 
penetration." 

"You  have  no  reason  to  like  me,  but  I 
can't  imagine  how  you  can  fear  me.  If  I  had 
the  power  to  injure  you,  you  know  quite  well 
that  I  would  not  do  it." 

"  I  believe  that,  but  one  fears  what  one 
admires.  You  know  parsons  preach  about 
fearing  God.  I  once  asked  my  mother  what 
that  meant,  and  she  said,  '  fearing  to  offend 
Him.'  Do  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  have  quite  atoned  for  your 
former  strictures  by  comparing  me  to  the 
Deity. 

He  smiled  a  little. 

"It  is  blasphemous,  isn't  it  ? — but  I  don't 
mean  badly.  You  have  for  me  the  aloof- 
ness and  indifference  of  a  god." 

His  smile  grew  more  indulgent. 

"  Don't  be  foolish  !  "  he  said.     "  A  god  ! 
291 


The  Middle  Course 

—a  poor,  perplexed,  faulty  fool  of  a  man, 
who  doesn't  know  what  to  do  next !  " 

He  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  brow  of 
the  slope.  She  followed  him  with  a  sudden 
impulse. 

"  I  think  I  can  help  you,"  she  said. 

He  stood  and  looked  down  at  her,  paying 
an  unwilling  tribute  to  her  prettiness  and 
charm. 

"  I'm  almost  sure  you  can't,"  he  said. 

"Are  you  trying  to  find  somebody?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that  ? 

"  Only  because  I  want  to  know." 

11  I  am  trying  to  find  someone.  I  wish  it 
more  than  anything,  else  on  earth."  He  was 
very  serious  now. 

11  Have  you  searched  all  through  the 
neighborhood  ? — at  Bury,  for  instance  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ?"  There  was  no  disguising  his  eager- 
ness. His  eyes  were  shining. 

Clarice  smiled  provokingly. 
292 


A  Vain    Search 

"  I  don't  mean  much  !  I'm  cold.  Shall 
we  go  back  ? " 

"  Listen  !  "  he  said.  "  You  owe  me  some- 
thing ;  you  must  tell  me  !  Do  you  know  ? 
Have  you  seen— the  person  ?" 

"  I  went  to  Kennerton  Farm  this  morning 
and  drank  a  glass  of  water,"  she  said. 

She  turned  and  walked  slowly  before  him 
toward  the  house.  He  followed  in  a  fever 
of  impatience. 

"  Mrs.  Hilyer  !  I  ask  you— I  beg  you— 
to  tell  me  what  you  mean.  Do  I  humble 
myself  enough  ?  Won't  you  tell  me  ? " 

She  turned  on  him  suddenly. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  not  enough.  You  shall 
first  tell  me  one  thing  :  Do  you  love  Mrs. 
North  ? " 

He  flushed  deeply. 

"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  me  that.  It  is 
an  intrusion,"  he  exclaimed,  his  nostrils 
quivering  and  the  old  haughty  look  on  his 

face. 

293 


The  Middle  Course 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Clarice. 
"  Forgive  me — "  and  she  walked  on.  She 
had  never  seen  him  so  eager.  It  stabbed 
her  to  think  that  another  woman  was  the 
cause  of  his  unusual  emotion.  He  still  fol- 
lowed her,  stifling  his  pride. 

11  Mrs.  Hilyer,"  he  said,  as  they  paused  at 
the  gate,  "  there  is,  after  all,  no  reason  why 
I  should  not  tell  you.  I  love  Althea  North 
with  all  my  heart  and  soul,  and  if  I  do  not 
find  her  it  will  be  the  greatest  sorrow  of  my 
life." 

Clarice's  face  paled  and  contracted. 

"  Is  it  so  serious  ? "  she  asked,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  You  really  mean  it  ?  She  is  the 
happy  woman  ? " 

"  It  is  very  serious,"  he  answered,  "  and 
she  is  the  woman  whom  I  shall  try  to  make 
happy,  if  she  will  let  me." 

With  a  perceptible  effort  Clarice  threw 
off  her  emotion. 

"  I  can  only  tell  you,"  she  said,  half-mock- 
294 


A  Vain   Search 

ingly,  "that  the  water  at  Kennerton  Farm 
is  very  good.  It  will  quench  your  thirst !  " 
and  she  left  him  standing  by  the  gate. 

In  the  early  morning  he  hurried  away 
once  more  to  seek  Althea  ;  and  once  more 
he  was  too  late.  She  had  left  the  farm. 


295 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IN    THE    SHADOW 

A  SMALL  room  over  a  baker's  shop  in 
Highbury  was  the  next  refuge. 

Again  mere  chance  had  dictated  choice. 
When  Althea  arrived  in  London  she  yielded 
to  an  impulse  to  drive  through  Chelsea,  while 
she  tried  to  decide  on  her  next  move.  As 
the  luggage-laden  four-wheeler  jogged  along 
the  King's  Road,  she  prayed  for  a  sign.  Just 
before  she  came  to  the  Vestry  Hall,  a  blue 
Highbury  'bus  clattered  by.  It  brought  a 
sudden  inspiration.  Why  not  Highbury  ! 
It  was  remote,  unfashionable— a  perfect 
hiding-place.  What  she  should  do  when 
settled  in  this  deadly  suburb  she  did  not  ask 
herself  ;  she  had  become  superstitious 
enough  to  take  anything  for  a  sign,  and  she 

at  once  bargained  with  her  cabman  to  drive 
297 


The   Middle  Course 

her  to  Highbury.  It  was  an  almost  unwar- 
rantable extravagance,  for  her  stock  of  money 
was  alarmingly  low  ;  but  she  dared  not  have 
her  boxes  sent  after  her,  as  they  would 
afford  a  clue  to  her  seeking  friends. 

It  was  not  easy  to  find  a  lodging,  but  after 
a  weary  search  Althea  was  at  last  able  to  in- 
stall herself  in  the  room  over  the  bakery. 
The  landlady  regarded  her  with  suspicion  ; 
nobody  like  that  had  ever  before  applied  for 
a  lodging.  The  amount  of  luggage,  however, 
combined  with  a  fortnight's  rent  in  advance, 
overcame  Mrs.  Rose's  scruples,  and  Althea 
took  possession. 

She  could  not  improve  the  appearance  of 
the  room  much,  for  with  characteristic  mean- 
ness Oliver  North  had  ordered  all  her  orna- 
ments to  be  packed  away  where  she  could 
not  gain  access  to  them.  She  had  only  two 
treasures,  and  these  she  kept  under  lock  and 
key.  One  was  Violet's  first  shoe,  the  other 

a  portrait  of  Clement  which  she  had  cut  out 
298 


In  the  Shadow 

of  an  illustrated  weekly  the  year  before,  after 
her  first  meeting  with  him.  It  was  so  like 
that  she  dared  not  look  at  it  now  ;  but  the 
little  shoe  she  sometimes  put  under  her  pil- 
low when  she  could  not  sleep.  It  seemed  a 
talisman  with  power  to  calm  and  soothe.  It 
is  a  characteristic  of  mother-love  that  it  sur- 
vives everything  else.  The  child  whom  we 
have  brought  forth  with  unspeakable  agony 
and  inexpressible  joy  is  inalienably  ours. 
Man's  love  is  selfish  and  transient  ;  it  may 
pass — nay,  it  surely  will,  for  love  between 
man  and  woman  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  created  to  stand  the  test  of  time  ;  but 
nothing  can  take  from  a  woman  the  unmixed 
rapture  of  her  child's  early  years.  No  mat- 
ter what  the  future  may  have  in  store— and 
life's  one  great  certainty  is  suffering — there 
must  always  remain  the  memory  of  the  little 
head  that  nestled  in  the  mother's  bosom,  the 
little  face  that  found  for  a  time  its  God  and 

its  heaven  in  the  mother's  eyes. 
299 


The   Middle  Course 

August  in  London  has  none  of  the  charm 
of  August  in  Sussex.  The  heat,  the  dust, 
the  dull  roll  of  the  'buses,  the  sharp  clatter 
of  the  carts,  the  poor  food,  the  dingy  sur- 
roundings, the  absence  of  occupation  and 
diversion — all  these  made  up  a  daily  life  that 
sapped  such  strength  and  hope  as  remained 
to  Althea. 

She  failed  to  realize  how  unhappy  she  had 
made  Nellie  and  Bertie,  and  even  Moorlake. 
Every  day  in  the  "  agony  column "  of  the 
Times  appeared  a  poignant  appeal  to  her  to 
return.  It  was  so  worded  that  she  alone 
would  have  recognized  it — but  she  never  saw 
the  Times. 

She  forced  herself  to  walk  a  little  each 
day,  resting  sometimes  on  a  bench  in  the 
little  park  near  her  lodging.  For  hours  she 
would  sit  at  the  open  windows  of  her  room 
watching  the  'buses  go  by.  Their  clatter 
seemed  to  say  :  "  We  can  take  you  to  Clem- 
ent !  We  can  take  you  to  Clement !  "  For 
300 


In  the  Shadow 

a  few  pence  she  could  have  gone  to  Chelsea. 
One  day  the  desire  became  too  strong  ;  she 
hailed  a  blue  'bus — had  her  foot  on  the  step, 
and  then,  as  the  horses  started,  withdrew  it, 
almost  falling  to  the  gutter.  The  conductor 
exclaimed  angrily,  but  she  did  not  heed — 
once  more  she  had  conquered. 

In  September  she  went  to  the  city  and 
saw  her  solicitor.  He  gave  her  the  money 
she  needed — more  than  usual,  for  he  had 
contrived  to  squeeze  something  out  of  North 
— and  told  her  that  Moorlake  and  the  Vin- 
cents had  come  to  him  more  than  once  to 
inquire  if  he  had  seen  her. 

"  You  must  at  least  let  me  assure  them  that 
you  are'safe  and  well,"  he  said,  thinking,  as  he 
looked  at  her,  that  her  days  were  numbered. 

"  You  may  do  that,  if  you  like,"  she  said, 
listlessly.  "  But  you  must  keep  my  secret. 
I  will  never  go  back  while  there  is  a  chance 
of  meeting  Mr.  Moorlake." 

Then  she  spoke  of  Violet  and  asked  what 
301 


The   Middle  Course 

prospect  there  was  of  her  ever  seeing  the 
child  again,  but  he  could  give  her  little  com- 
fort. 

When  they  parted  he  said  :  "  Forgive  me 
for  saying  it,  but  you  are  in  the  wrong." 

"  Perhaps  I  am,"  she  assented,  dully,  but 
I  can't  do  otherwise." 

"  You  should  see  Mr.  Moorlakeonce  more, 
at  least,"  he  urged. 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  I  prefer  the  guillotine  to  Chinese  torture/' 
she  said,  and  so  left  him. 

Physically  she  was  near  the  end  of  her 
tether.  One  day  in  October  it  did  not  seem 
worth  while  to  get  up.  It  was  a  dull,  lower- 
ing day  with  a  foretaste  of  Winter  fog  in  the 
air.  The  reek  of  chimneys  mingled  with 
the  pleasant  smell  of  fresh  bread  coming 
from  the  bakery  below.  Althea  lay  in  the 
narrow  iron  bed  with  its  coarse  sheets,  gray 
with  the  London  blight,  and  stared  at  the 

little  room.     In  the  window  was  a  rickety 
302 


In  the  Shadow 

dressing  table,  the  mirror  of  which  had  to 
be  coaxed  with  a  wad  of  paper  to  remain  at 
a  useful  angle.  There  was  a  band  of  brassy 
metal  across  the  top  of  the  lower  window 
sash,  holding  a  short  Nottingham  lace  cur- 
tain that  had  also  the  dim  bloom  of  soot 
upon  it.  There  were  a  chest  of  drawers,  two 
chairs,  a  washstand  furnished  with  odd 
pieces  of  china  and  with  two  flabby  gray  towels 
on  the  rail  ;  the  paper  was  a  washable  "  sani- 
tary "  one  with  a  maddening  pattern  in  dull 
brown  ;  the  carpet  was  worn,  faded  and 
grimed  to  an  even,  despondent  tone. 

"  What  a  room  to  die  in  !  "  thought  Althea, 
for  she  hoped  that  her  intense  lassitude 
might  foretell  dissolution.  She  remembered 
the  white  enameled  wood  and  pale  blue 
chintz  of  her  bedroom  in  Pont  street,  and 
the  irony  of  life  in  general  and  hers  in  par- 
ticular made  her  smile  bitterly. 

Mrs.  Rose  bustled  in  with  the  breakfast. 

Several  weeks  of  prompt  payment  and  un- 
303 


The   Middle  Course 

impeachable  respectability  of  conduct  had 
softened  her  commercial  heart. 

"Well,  I'm  sure,"  she  exclaimed,  setting 
down  the  tray  on  a  chair,  "  you  don't  look 
up  to  much  this  morning !  " 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  said  Althea.  "  I  think  I 
shall  stay  in  bed  a  little  while." 

"  Why  should  you  get  up  ?  Your  life 
isn't  so  busy,  is  it  ?  Not  much  to  stir  you 
up  like,  is  there  ? "  responded  Mrs.  Rose. 
"  I  always  wonder  how  you  do  get  through 
the  days." 

Althea  began  pouring  out  the  tea,  which 
was  always  fresh  and  good.  As  she  turned,  a 
little  shoe  fell  out  from  under  the  pillow. 

Mrs.  Rose's  face  kindled  with  interest. 

"  Oh,  the  dear  little  shoe  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, picking  it  up.  "  Did  that  belong 
to  a  child  of  yours,  ma'am  ?  " 

A  sudden  flush  surged  over  Althea's  face 
and  weak  tears  trickled  from  her  lashes. 

"  There,  there  !  "  said   the  landlady,  "  I 
304 


didn't  ought  to  'a'  been  so  sudden  !  Per- 
haps the  poor  little  darling's  in  heaven." 

Althea  lost  all  her  self-control  ;  all  the 
silence,  privation,  repression  of  the  past  two 
months  rolled  up  and  crushed  her.  A  tidal 
wave  of  emotion  seemed  rearing  its  crest 
and  tumbling  nearer  and  nearer  till  it  broke 
over  her  and,  breaking,  blotted  out  the  world. 
By  night  she  was  delirious. 

Such  a  thing  had  never  before  occurred 
in  Mrs.  Rose's  household  since  she  had  let 
lodgings.  She  was  extremely  embarrassed, 
and  no  less  sympathetic.  She  turned  for 
advice  to  Mr.  Rose,  whom  she  was  not  apt 
to  honor  in  that  way.  He  was  a  slow  man, 
and  took  time  to  consider.  Next  morning, 
after  his  wife  had  had  a  sleepless  night, 
watching  in  Althea's  room,  he  mildly  sug- 
gested a  doctor. 

The  medical  man,  when  he  came,  pro- 
nounced the  patient  very  ill,  and  asked  if  she 

had  any  friends  or  relatives.     Then  again 
20  305 


The   Middle  Course 

the  Roses  were  nonplussed.  What  clue 
was  there  for  them  to  go  by  ?  A  baby's 
shoe  afforded  no  useful  evidence.  But  as 
Althea  grew  worse  the  doctor  became  more 
urgent.  He  pressed  Mrs.  Rose  to  examine 
all  Mrs.  North's  belongings  in  search  of  in- 
formation. 

"  Which  I  feels  like  a  thief,"  observed  the 
landlady,  as,  within  sound  of  the  patient's 
ravings,  she  turned  over  the  contents  of  the 
boxes. 

There  was  nothing  to  assist  her.  Only 
one  small  box,  which  was  locked,  looked 
hopeful. 

"  But  I  can't  hardly  break  it  open,"  said 
the  reluctant  Mrs.  Rose. 

"  I  can — and  will,"  said  the  doctor,  who 
had  the  worst  possible  opinion  of  Althea's 
condition. 

When  the  lid  of  the  box  flew  open  it  dis- 
closed only  the  newspaper  portrait  of  Clem- 
ent Moorlake,  with  the  name  beneath. 
306 


In  the  Shadow 

"  Well,  I  never  !  "  said  Mrs.  Rose.  "  The 
poor  thing's  husband,  I  suppose." 

But  the  doctor  was  a  man  who  knew  a 
thing  or  two,  though  he  did  live  in  High- 
bury. He  had  heard  of  Moorlake.  He 
went  and  consulted  the  Red  Book,  dis- 
covered where  the  sculptor  lived,  and  then 
wrote  him  a  note. 

Next  day  Althea's  fever  abated,  but  her 
weakness  was  pitiable.  Pulse  there  was 
next  to  none  ;  the  overtaxed  nerves,  the 
impoverished  blood,  were  taking  their  re- 
venge. She  was  conscious,  but  was  too  far 
gone  to  show  that  she  wras.  Toward  after- 
noon she  felt  a  soft  hand  on  her  forehead 
and  smelt  a  delicate  fragrance  like  that  of 
fresh  violets — an  odor  that  contended  trium- 
phantly with  the  bread  and  the  soot.  She 
did  not  want  to  know  who  it  was — it  might 
be  her  long-dead  mother  come  to  welcome 
her  into  the  other  world. 

The  hand  came  and  went,  but  the  violets 
307 


The   Middle  Course 

stayed.  Once  or  twice  she  heard  a  voice- 
very  far  off,  but  very  familiar.  She  could 
not  connect  it  with  any  person  she  had 
known,  yet  its  tones  brought  a  curious,  vague 
comfort  that  curled  round  her  scarce  beat- 
ing heart  and  warmed  it.  Then  she  began 
to  understand  :  she  was  dead,  and  the  kind 
spirits  who  had  carried  her  away  were  let- 
ting her  rest  and  gain  strength  before  enter- 
ing on  the  new  life.  She  liked  being  dead. 
She  felt  warm  and  clean  and  comfortable  ; 
only,  of  course,  being  dead,  she  could  not 
move  at  all,  just  at  first.  One  of  the  spirits 
fed  her  very  often,  and  if  she  had  been 
alive,  she  would  have  said  that  she  swal- 
lowed beef  tea  sometimes  and  sometimes 
brandy,  but  she  supposed  that  must  be  a 
delusion,  because  the  dead  do  not  eat. 

Then  there  came  a  day  when  somebody 
kindly  took  the  weights  off  her  eyes.  The 
lids  quivered  and  opened  a  little.  It  was 

morning,  and  a  little  light  struggled  in.     A 
308 


In  the  Shadow 

form  wonderfully  like  an  earthly  woman,  in 
a  white  cap  and  apron,  stood  by  the  bed. 

"  She  is  sensible,"  murmured  the  woman. 

A  deep  breath  was  drawn  by  someone  else 
near  by.  Althea  searched  for  her  voice,  so 
long  unused  that  she  seemed  to  have  mis- 
laid it. 

"  Not  dead  ?"  she  said,  so  softly  it  was  a 
wonder  anybody  heard  it. 

But  the  white-capped  person  bent  over 
her  and  the  voice  of  someone  else  said,  very 
low:  "Thank  God!" 

Then  Althea's  eyes  opened  wider,  and  she 
saw  Nellie. 


309 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   GOAL   OF    HAPPINESS 

CAMPDEN  HILL  once  more — love,  friend- 
ship, security,  home  !  Slowly  Althea  strug- 
gled back  to  life  ;  slowly,  yet  with  a  sweet- 
ness, a  serenity  that  she  had  not  known 
before. 

For  she  had  looked  life  and  death  in  the 
face  and  had  learned  her  lesson,  the  truth 
the  world  holds  for  everyone  of  us,  that  we 
can  none  of  us  be  perfectly  happy,  but  that 
we  can  all  be  brave  and  patient. 

No  hint  of  Clement's  new-born  love  had 
come  to  her.  Nellie  was  pledged  to  silence 
— indeed,  absolute  reticence  was  enforced  by 
Althea,  who  would  not  hear  Clement's  name. 

But  the  time  came  at  last  when  the  secret 

was  to  be  made  manifest. 
3" 


The   Middle  Course 

One  afternoon  in  December  Althea  sat  in 
the  morning-room,  which  seemed  inexpres- 
sibly restful  and  beautiful  after  the  High- 
bury lodging.  She  was  still  pale  and  thin, 
but  not  white  and  wasted  as  she  had  been 
two  months  before.  It  was  pleasant  to  sit 
looking  into  the  fire,  thinking  about  nothing. 
She  had  learned  how  to  do  that,  and  found 
it  a  wholesome  accomplishment.  When 
ugly,  wearing  thoughts  put  up  their  heads 
she  promptly  extinguished  them.  To-day 
she  was  all  peace.  Nellie  had  left  her  for 
half  an  hour,  but  presently  she  returned  and 
began  to  make  tea.  She  was  far  from  calm, 
and  clattered  about  among  the  tea-things  in 
an  unusual  manner. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Nellie?"  asked 
her  friend.  "  I'm  like  a  baby  without  its 
nurse  wh6n  you  leave  the  room." 

"  I  had  a  caller,"  answered  Nellie. 

"  A  woman  or  a  man  ? " 

11 A  man." 

312 


The  Goal  of  Happiness 

"  Someone  you  like  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  it's  lucky  I  do  like  him,  as  he 
has  been  here  in  the  last  two  months  just 
fifty  times." 

"  Good  gracious !  He  must  be  in  love 
with  you." 

"  Not  with  me." 

Something  in  the  tone  made  Althea  turn 
in  her  deep  chair  and  look  at  Mrs.  Vincent. 

11  Nellie     .     .     ."  she  began. 

"  It's  no  use,"  broke  out  Nellie  ;  "you've 
got  to  see  him  !  " 

Althea  half-rose.  "If  you  begin  that 
.  .  ."  she  said. 

Nellie  was  almost  stern.  She  left  the  tea 
table,  came  over  to  Althea,  and  stood  with 
her  hand  gently  pressing  her  back  into  her 
chair. 

"  Althea,"  she  said,  gravely,  "  you  are 
strong  enough  now  to  hear  what  Clement  has 
to  say.  It  is  unfair  to  him  to  refuse.  He  is 
the  loyalest,  finest  creature  I've  ever  known. 


The  Middle  Course 

Any  woman  would  die  for  him  gladly  if  she 
loved  him,  and  even  if  you  don't  you  have  no 
right  to  deny  him  a  hearing." 

11  If  I  don't  !  "  said  Althea,  slowly.  She 
was  looking  up  into  Nellie's  eyes,  but  she 
covered  her  face  after  a  moment  with  her 
thin  hand.  "  I  thought  you  understood," 
she  said,  with  something  of  the  old  weak- 
ness. 

"  I  thought  so,  too,  dear,"  said  Nellie. 
"  But  everything  is  changed.  He  has  come 
here  nearly  every  day,  hoping  and  praying  to 
see  you — to  tell  you.  .  .  .  He  is  here 
now." 

Althea  made  a  movement  as  if  to  escape, 
but  all  at  once  Moorlake  was  in  the  room — 
was  beside  her — near,  near,  with  both  her 
hands  in  his,  and  Nellie  was  gone. 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  said,  softly ;  "  I  could 
not  wait  another  minute." 

He  was  half-kneeling  beside  her,  still  hold- 
ing her  hands.  Of  all  she  had  had  to  bear 
3H 


The  Goal  of  Happiness 

this  was  the  strangest,  the  sweetest,  the  bit- 
terest, for  it  was  like  life  and  death  together. 
All  the  sorrow,  the  joy,  the  mystery  and  the 
fulness  of  a  whole  existence  were  in  that 
moment,  in  that  touch.  In  an  instant  her 
blood  leaped  and  her  heart  bounded.  For 
something  in  Clement  was  changed — some- 
thing had  gone,  and  something  was  come  in 
its  place.  His  old  look  she  knew,  but  not 
this.  On  that  face  which  she  had  loved  bet- 
ter than  happiness  she  had  seen  pity,  kind- 
ness, affection  ;  but  now,  unless  her  senses 
were  fatally  mistaken,  here  was  love— a  love 
such  as  few  women  ever  win  and  fewer  still 
contrive  to  keep.  His  clasp  sent  fresh,  full 
life  through  her  veins.  She  did  not  know 
the  meaning  of  it  all,  and  so  she  only  sat 
still,  finding  it  joy  enough  to  feel,  without 
knowing. 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  may  I  tell 
you  now  ?  Are  you  strong  ?  Can  you 
listen  ? " 


The   Middle  Course 

She  only  smiled  assent  —  such  a  strange 
smile,  like  that  of  one  who  sees  the  heavens 
open,  but  knows  not  if  the  revelation  be  for 
him  or  another. 

"  Oh,  Althea  !  how  I  have  searched  for 
you  !  and  how  I  have  loved  you  !  " 

"  Loved  me  ?"  she  said,  softly. 

"  Yes  ;  loved,"  he  answered,  vehemently, 
"as  I  never  knew  I  could  love." 

"  I  can't  believe  —  I  dare  not."  She  gently 
drew  her  hand  away. 

"  You  send  me  away  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  No  —  no  !  Stay  —  but  tell  me—  make  me 
understand." 

And  then  he  told  her  everything—  of  his 
love,  his  long  misplaced  loyalty,  his  sudden 
disillusion.  In  that  ardent,  hurried  story 
lay  the  recompense  for  all  she  had  suffered. 
When  it  was  over,  he  knelt  once  more  be- 
side her  and  asked  her  for  an  answer. 

"  Do  you  love  me  ?  "  he  said,  "  did  you 
ever  iove  me  ?  " 


The  Goal  of  Happiness 

But  there  are  truths  that  need  no  telling. 
Here  at  last  she  was  in  his  arms,  not  pitied, 
but  loved.  It  was  more  than  she  could 
bear.  Her  head  drooped — her  eyes  closed 
— closed,  as  he  feared,  forever.  But  the 
weakness  passed. 

FINIS. 


312 


A     000  040  674    4 


